[AN: The too-perfect Gaston backstory I created with And I Fell appears once more, and some effort is made to keep it all in line with the account given in LeFou the Madman — although I've been willing to deviate, especially since the tone of this story is much more serious. The usual difficulties with the film rear their head: what era this is supposed to be in, un-French behaviors of the Frenchmen, typical Disney continuity errors, and background art that implies that Belle spends a whole season in Beast's castle whereas dialogue indicates that only a few days pass. For this story I am going with a timeline of a couple weeks — long enough Beast can remove his bandage after the wolf attack without visible marks through his fur.]

[I write Gaston on the asexual spectrum; probably a cupiosexual — meaning he is capable of enjoying and desiring sex, but doesn't experience sexual attraction. Consequently he has a devil of a time finding anyone he'd want to have it with.]

[The Drinking Song from The Student Prince is in the public domain. Fun fact: It was this very tune that inspired Ashman and Menken's song Gaston. The aria that appears as This Woman is the Best I've Seen is my own translation of Tamino's aria from The Magic Flute. The song of The Golden Vanity is a traditional folk song, in the public domain. The French tune Nous n'irons plus au bois is also a traditional song in the public domain.]

And intoxicated by madness I screamed furiously: "Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!"

Though such capricious endeavors are not without peril, and one must often pay dearly for them, what does an eternity of damnation compare with an infinity of pleasure in a single second?

— Baudelaire

…_…

AFTERMATH

The splendid vision of a vibrant, youthful Prince and Princess emerging from their shining castle. Their silk-clad arms were locked. Around them wafted the wonderful scent of fresh blossoms, clean air and damp river.

They came into the bright, blooming rose garden like something from a painting by Boucher or Fragonard — unimportant, arguably even offensively so given the degree of opulence and attention put upon it; but it was something that made you feel good just to look at.

The couple were planning a special dinner, just the two of them. The Princess Belle particularly wanted to have some fresh flowers for her table, hand picked with her husband at her side; for she intended these blossoms to be a keepsake after the fact.

"How many do we need?" asked the Prince, examining his bloom-laden bushes.

"Maybe six," said Belle. "Enough for a nice bouquet."

"Shouldn't we, um, get a few dozen?" asked the Prince, trying to envision how it would look out on the table. "The castle dining hall is large, Belle," he said, knowing she had grown up in less resplendent circumstances, and might not be thinking in the right scale.

"We only need enough for the two of us at the table," said Belle. "But, I suppose the flowers will just wilt on the bushes if we don't use them. You might as well pick whatever you think right."

The couple began hunting about the garden for the choicest blooms. There were dozens of bushes to select from, the plants all tastefully arranged by gardeners in a formation. Belle looked for roses with long stems, while the Prince instinctively sought the biggest blossoms.

A little outside of the well-planned garden formation was a large and somehow more ornate looking bush than the others. The Prince spotted it. It was covered with the most exceptional flowers he had ever seen. He hurried over to grab the tallest of them.

"Ow!" cried the Prince as the flower pricked his fingers. Droplets of blood formed instantly.

"Are you alright?" asked Belle, looking up at the painful sound of his yelp.

"Ugh! Yes," said the irritated Prince, squeezing his injuries and looking resentfully at the flower. "That rose stabbed me!"

"You just need to be more gentle," laughed Belle, approaching. "The flower doesn't mean to hurt you. See?"

She carefully plucked the rose that the Prince had just injured himself to collect. She lifted it to her nose, inhaled its fragrance, and smiled.

The Prince couldn't help but smile back at her, though his nature led him to sulk over his fresh wound.

Belle could see that he was fretting. "Let me see."

With a furrowed brow, the Prince held out his hand, revealing three little punctures which had already stopped bleeding.

"Well, that's not so bad!" admonished Belle smilingly. "You've had worse without making a fuss."

"Yeah," muttered the Prince glumly. "Like from the man in the red shirt."

Belle immediately grew more serious, for that was a very serious memory he invoked. She wondered if the Prince was simply being dramatic, as he was wont to do, or if he was really suffering a traumatic flashback, which he was also prone to. She tried to reassure her husband. "But you came out of it fine, in the end."

Behind vivid blue eyes the Prince thought back to that night, so many months ago — simultaneously the worst and best night of his life. "He was someone you knew in the village?" he asked, frowning. He had long been disturbed by the fact that a man who was, to him, an absolute stranger had shown up in his house, beaten him and, technically, killed him. It was only the magic of the Enchantress that had saved his life. He knew little about the strange, malicious male but for what Belle and her father Maurice had uttered after the fact.

"I barely knew him," insisted Belle, disdainfully. She was just a bit traumatized by the memories of that man, herself. With a deep sigh, she examined the large flower, whose red petals and yellow stamens now recalled to her Gaston's favorite shirt. "But," she added, "I suppose we can't say Gaston was all bad news. If it weren't for him, I'd have stayed home with my father and would have never come back here in time to have broken the curse you were under."

With a smile, she gathered the half-dozen collected flowers into one arm and encircled her Prince with the other, drawing him back to the walkway so they could go inside.

"I was just lucky the Enchantress decided to come back to see how I had done," added the Prince. As he recollected the events, something else dawned on him. "But…" said the Prince, frowning at the assemblage of flowers. "Do you remember there was a new rosebush she planted, and said not to disturb? Was that it, that we just picked those from?"

In the chaos of that morning so many months ago, Belle had barely been able to pay attention to anything. Yet she closed her eyes and recalled that indeed, the Enchantress had taken them out to the garden and shown them a brand new rosebush, which she said not to remove. "I don't recall her saying we couldn't pick the flowers, just that we mustn't remove the bush."

The Prince looked suspiciously at the blossoms now held by Belle. "She's probably using it to spy on me," he grumbled.

Belle threw down the flowers and flung her arms around him. The sudden gush of affection provoked of him a fresh smile.

"Why are you so grumpy?" said Belle, glowing with joy, holding him in her arms. A few of the cast off blossoms were caught in between them and now hung dangling in her hair and clothes. "We're together now, everything is fine — and I have some important news to tell you later. But I do want to have some flowers to pretty up the table. News like this requires flowers. Flowers are for happiness, and well wishes."

Belle began to collect again the flowers that had clung to her. The Prince helped her pick them from her body and clothes. Somehow he kept on pricking himself, while Belle seemed unharmed even as the thorny flowers laid directly against her skin.

"These flowers have it out for me, Belle!" he said with mounting excitement. "You've seen living furniture — it's the same with these flowers. The Enchantress was up to something with this bush."

"Well, if she meant to hurt you, she had the means to do far worse than that," said Belle. The flowers were gathered up again in her arms. "I think she just wanted to give us a reminder of what happened. Something so we could always recall why it was we met, and how."