"A thousand clarions sound their cheering blasts
So loud, the French can hear—. Says Olivier:
'Roland, companion, hearken! Soon, methinks,
We shall have battle with the Saracens!"
To which Roland: "God grant it may be so.
Here must we do our duty to our King;
A man should for his Lord and for his cause
Distress endure, and bear great heat and cold,
Lose all, even to his very hair and skin!
'Tis each man's part to strike with mighty blows,
That evil songs of us may ne'er be sung.'"
A favorite story of mine, the Song of Roland. Could there be a better way to pass a winter's night? Belle reads it beautifully — not that she could do but otherwise. She is perfection in every way. We're a ways from my favorite part, the part where Roland's head explodes. I always used to make Cogsworth skip ahead to that; but with Belle, just to sit with her by the fireside is so wonderful. The book itself barely matters. When she reads to me, with her light voice passing through rose-toned lips — she isn't looking at me. Then I know for sure she is not struggling to conceal disgust at my appearance; she's not even thinking about how I look. She is focused on her text, and reading it to the companion who might just as easily be Adonis himself as a —
She sniffles. Is she crying? No… she seems happy enough. She sniffs again, and pauses from the book.
"I'm sorry," she says, "but do you have a handkerchief?"
A handkerchief? I've never thought to carry such a thing in my life. As a child it was always Mrs. Potts or someone running up to me with one, instructing me to blow my nose while mashing linen that stunk of lavender into my face. And certainly nobody's given any such concern since I became a —
"I'll call the servants to bring one," I say, springing towards the hall, intending to shout for someone; but I'm surprised when I shove open the door and see housewares being flung across the marble. That little cabal has been eavesdropping at the door again.
Evidently embarrassed at the detection, Cogsworth picks himself up. "A handkerchief for the lady?" he says, abashed. "No worries, I was just on the way to find one."
I'm not even sure what to say to this. I just turn around and close the door.
"It's coming," I say to Belle.
She smiles, like she's embarrassed. She sniffles again, and tries to dab her nose discreetly with the back of her hand.
"It's just that it's so cold in here," she says.
I find the temperature perfectly comfortable; but it's only then that I realize I'm wearing a thick cape of wool and velvet, while she is only clad in a silk gown. Not to mention I am covered in thick, disgusting, but undeniably warm fur. Moreover, I see that the fire is beginning to die down.
I look by the fireside for more wood. None.
"I'll call for some more wood, and for your cape," I say. I hurry again to the door, and this time I find the remaining servants scattering of their own accord.
"I'll tell the wardrobe to bring out the cape!" cries Mrs. Potts, hopping to the left.
"I will have the axe chop some more firewood!" cries Lumiere, hopping to the right.
I grumble in annoyance at their eternal eavesdropping, and I shut the door again.
Belle has nestled up beside the fireplace, but clearly it's not enough heat for her. Her arms are crossed as she tries to get warm. Castles, with their tall ceilings, are notoriously difficult to heat adequately. It will be a while before the servants return with the items. I don't want her to freeze in the meantime.
At this point it strikes me: if she would cuddle up against me, she'd be warm.
But… oh, could I dare it? There's something far too intimate about it. It seems improper to even invite her to do such a thing. She might think I have other ideas. What if she gets angry at my saying something so presumptuous? I don't want her to think that I'm thinking about touching her and caressing her and feeling her creamy skin which is absolutely not what I am thinking about right now, at all. It's just that she is cold, and, this would be an easy way to resolve it.
Still… she never objects when I take her by the hands, when I help her on with her cape. Could we be ready to sit together, touching?
But she doesn't even like me. And I know, because I haven't transformed yet. I'm hideous. Why would she want to cuddle with a monster like me?
"Should I get back to the book while we wait for them?" she asks, dabbing with embarrassment at her cold nose. She sniffles once more. There's something cute about it. A charm in the fallibility of even Belle's utter perfection.
"I… could… try to warm you up?" I find myself saying despite myself. I'm already wincing when the words leave my mouth, knowing I should not have said that.
"Warm me up?"
"Cuddle…" Ugh, she doesn't want to cuddle up with a BEAST. How could I even suggest such a thing? The back of my head is burning like it always does when I'm embarrassed. "Um, sorry, I shouldn't have… I was just kidding," I say, hoping to save face.
"Kidding?"
"Yeah… ha, ha." I can hear what a horrible growl an endeavor to even mock-laugh comes out like. I wince again as I wonder how many days backward in my quest to win Belle's love I have just set myself in these last thirty seconds.
She's probably going to get mad, and will go back to her room — where it's warm — and just glare at me all through breakfast tomorrow, like she did after that wolf fight. Wasn't the foremost complaint about my keeping her father in the prison cell that he was growing cold and sick? Fantastic, I am letting her get cold and sick now. She's going to catch a cold, and end up with a fever, and then die, and then where's that rose and all our hopes going to be?
Ugh! Belle, Belle, Belle — don't be cold! I want her warm and happy and safe and — I find myself bursting with an uncontrollable affection — I have to squeeze, have to hold…
Belle lets out a whimper at the surprise embrace, which I cannot seem to bar myself from making. Fur and clothing hinder my ability to feel her, though on the pads of my paws I note a slight coolness from the silk of her dress.
"Oh! You're right. This is a lot warmer!" she suddenly blurts, to my astonishment.
"You… want me to stay like this?" I ask.
She begins to fidget and squirm. "Well, I can't hold the book sitting like this. Let's see…" She proceeds to turn away from me, but still snuggled underneath the cloth of my cape.
My heart is pounding with excitement. I can hear it. I don't think I've ever been this close to her before. This is a new frontier! A new realm of togetherness! A fresh step toward romance —
Oh. Oh no. My tail is beginning to wag like a dog. That's what I'm hearing. I reach back and try to push the stupid thing flat to the floor. Neither Belle nor I needs anymore reminders that I'm some hideous, sub-human mutation. Belle continues to twist about in my other arm.
"Hmm…" she puzzles aloud. "This is a little uncomfortable. Maybe if I sit this way?" She proceeds to gather up most of the material from my cape, and wraps it around herself, facing away from me towards the fire, with the book in her lap. "Yes, this works!" she declares happily.
I am now being strangled by the pull of the cape around my neck, but I don't want to refuse her the warmth. I have to keep my head at a strange, painful angle to grant her the bulk of the cape while she sits how she wants. I turn myself so that my death will at least be from a quickly snapped neck instead of asphyxiation.
She resumes reading the book, apparently unaware that I'm in some distress here.
She looks amazing in the cape, though. Wrapped up in velvets like a queen.
It then crosses my mind. "You should take the cape," I say, pushing the pin to unclasp it. The fabric goes spilling over Belle, and I am free at last.
"It's not too cold for you?" she asks stuffily. It sounds like she really needs that handkerchief.
"I'll be fine," I grunt. She's sitting at a bit of distance now, ignoring me, but looking quite content encircled by my cape. There's something absolutely charming about the thought that she's wearing my cape.
Then she sneezes, covering her mouth with her hands.
"À tes souhaits," I say automatically.
She doesn't remove her hands from her face. Her eyes are enlarging. Panic. There's a whimper of distress from her throat.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"I really need that handkerchief," she says urgently from behind her hands.
"Cogsworth is on his way," I say.
"I need one now," she says in a tone more mournful than demanding.
At this point I realize that the fair Belle has blown snot all over her face with her sneeze, and she is now afraid to remove her hands lest she reveal to me the mess.
There's something flattering in it. Disgusting as I often feel being a beast, it's nice to have these little reminders that humans are perfectly vile as well. Even their most beautiful creation.
END.
