a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read
Part I:
"...They Just Fade Away"
It was nearing noon in the quaint little village of Molyneaux when Ignatius LeFou finally limped out of the doctor's house, having had the misfortune to be the very last in line the night before. The men had hardly spoken to one another during their flight from the castle, nor during their wait for treatment for their injuries as they queued up outside Doctor Pye's office while the night broke into morning. Nobody wanted to believe what they had witnessed at the mysterious castle, although they had to, having experienced it firsthand; however not discussing it seemed to make it less real somehow, which was a bit of a comfort. Wives, children, and all those others who had not taken part in the storming of the castle - including old Doctor Pye himself - found a chore ahead of them as they pressed for details, but it would be some time before anyone knew the full truth of what had really transpired.
LeFou not only didn't want to discuss it, he didn't even want to think about it. Forget the Beast (whom he had not seen, except that brief glimpse in the Mirror), those knives alone would haunt his dreams for years. And he was sure he would never know just what had jabbed him in the posterior, which was just fine with him.
Although he would have much preferred crawling into bed, LeFou only stopped at his room at the back of the tavern long enough to grab another pair of shoes. He then made a beeline for the stables behind the building, snagging two apples from a basket against the back wall of the tavern on his way.
He didn't even have to call out; a deep nicker from the first stall told him that the old stallion knew he was coming. A charcoal-grey head emerged over the stable wall and bobbed in greeting. LeFou held up an apple and it was gobbled up immediately, the horse then extending his lips towards the other fruit.
LeFou backed up, holding the apple out of reach. "This one's for Stella, Omri," he chided, as he did every day. "Just because you're bigger doesn't mean you get everyone's share."
His Supreme Royal Majesty King Omri the Most Exalted (for that was the stallion's full name) snorted as if insulted and retaliated by stretching out his neck and gnawing on the roof of the stable. LeFou ignored him and moved to the next stall.
"Stella," he called, painfully climbing onto a stool and squinting into the dark depths of the stall, trying to make out the shape of the black mare. He whistled. "C'mon girl, get your apple." Stella was Gaston's charger, a headstrong, pitch-black steed. Omri, a former show horse retired to stud (LeFou had inherited him from his late father), was her sire, and both were kept in private stables behind the tavern, where LeFou could have exclusive care of them. Although both horses were rather valuable, LeFou himself wasn't that picky about who cared for Omri; however Gaston never let anyone but himself, or LeFou, touch Stella. As a result, the mare was skittish and unpredictable around anyone but those two men, and the villagers knew well enough by now to keep their distance. Even LeFou knew better than to do so much as raise his voice with her. Although she let LeFou groom her, not even he could ride her. Gaston was the only person she had ever allowed to sit on her back. She was nearly wild, and Gaston had always admired her greatly.
When LeFou's eyes adjusted to the dark he could see that the stall was empty, and she was plainly not out in the paddock. Gaston had left Stella outside the castle gates when he had led the men to batter the door, and he never would have forgotten to retrieve her. And unlike her sire, she wasn't likely to leave without her master and return to her stall alone. If Gaston never would have left Stella behind, and Stella never would have left Gaston behind...LeFou bit his tongue...then they both must still be out there somewhere. They hadn't come back.
After quickly relinquishing the remaining apple to Omri and sloshing a bucketful of water into his trough, LeFou hurried to Gaston's house, built just on the outskirts of the town square, and pounded on the door. Although the logic was there, he had to be sure that Gaston really wasn't safe and sound at home, after what had...happened. Surely Gaston of all people would have escaped unscathed from that brutal scene - LeFou simply couldn't believe otherwise. He pounded again.
"He's not at home."
Spinning around at the voice, LeFou frowned at Monsieur Ockley, the purveyor of the town's small bookshop, who had appeared out of nowhere to stand at the bottom of Gaston's porch, an open book in his hand. The shopkeeper closed the book and removed his spectacles before adding: "He hasn't returned to the village."
LeFou came slowly down the steps. "He hasn't?" he parrotted, that logic coming back to haunt him.
Monsieur Ockley shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Neither he nor Belle or her father have been seen since last night." The bookseller wasn't unsympathetic to LeFou's concern; he'd known him since he was born. 'That boy's as loyal as a hound,' he'd said often of Ignatius LeFou. To tell the truth, the elderly man wasn't without worry of his own, although he was concerned mostly about Belle. No one knew what had caused Maurice's invention to smash its way into the inventor's cellar, and it could only be presumed that they had both taken Phillipe and headed after the angry mob.
"Then I'm going to look for him." Monsieur Ockley was shaken out of his reverie as LeFou hurried past him back towards the tavern. The bookseller opened his mouth to call after him, then thought better of it and returned to his shop.
"LeFou! Hey, LeFou!"
LeFou reluctantly drew Omri to a halt as a handful of villagers hurried towards him. He'd almost made it out of town before the inevitable question was thrown at him:
"Where's Gaston?" demanded one of the three blonde knockouts who were always chasing after Gaston and ignoring the advances of every other man in town. LeFou thought that this one might be called Chloe, though he wasn't sure; Gaston himself had avoided confusion simply calling all three "Hey there." Somehow LeFou knew that the same tactic would never work for him, so he tried to keep their names straight. But it wasn't easy.
Another Knockout, who may have been called Pamela, jostled her way forward. "Where is he?" she pouted bustily.
"I haven't seen him all daaaay," whined the last one, whose name might have been Monette.
"Neither have I," said the man who had spoken first. It was Denis, the blacksmith. "He must have come back very late."
"No he didn't," said LeFou quickly before any more questions could be asked. "He didn't come back at all. I'm going to look for him." He paused a moment, then, bravely: "Who's coming with me?"
The men in the group looked mutely at each other for a few seconds. Then Bertram, the baker, stepped forward. "Are you off your nut, LeFou?" he growled. "You think any of us is going to go back...back there?" The last part was in a whisper, as if it was a dirty phrase that might offend the female ears present.
"Forget it," agreed Denis. "Besides, this is Gaston we're talking about. He doesn't need any help from us. If he's out there, he'll be back. Sooner rather than later, right men?" The men quickly voiced agreement.
LeFou frowned and shifted on the pillow he'd strapped to his saddle (what had stabbed him?). "Well I'm going anyway," he said stubbornly, and guided Omri away from the crowd and towards the wood. Nobody said anything to stop him.
Although LeFou urged Omri to hurry, the stallion seemed to sense his master's reluctance to venture closer to the castle and hung back recalcitrantly, making progress slow. There was something peculiar about the woods today, about the air itself, which LeFou couldn't quite put his finger on. He'd been hunting in these woods since his father had taught him how to hold a gun, and the place had always felt close somehow, like something was pressing down; needless to say he wasn't a great fan of hunting alone, though venturing into such a place with someone like Gaston was a different story altogether. That had been acceptable, simply because Gaston refused to be intimidated.
But today...today...Something was different, period. The woods seemed to breathe easier, somehow, and that strange pressure was absent. If he didn't recognise the path, LeFou would have sworn it was a different wood entirely. More sun seemed to filter through the trees too, so the place was brighter than he'd ever seen it. It even smelled different.
Although the atmosphere was more inviting, the change filled LeFou with an inexplicable dread; a sense that something terribly significant had taken place, and the fear of the unknown threatened everything like a raging forest fire. LeFou gripped Omri's reins tighter, and when a sharp whinny suddenly echoed through the trees, he cried out in terror and nearly tumbled to the ground.
Omri stiffened at the sound; he flared his nostrils and pricked his ears. When the whinny repeated itself he leapt forward, causing LeFou to cry out again and fight to stay in the saddle. The pillow slipped away, making the ride even rougher.
The stallion and his hapless rider charged suddenly into a small clearing and into the midst of a commotion consisting of three riderless horses and two men. Two of the horses, both chestnut geldings, pranced about nervously as the men tried to catch the reins of the third horse, a sleek black mare, who whinnied again and reared defensively, trying to avoid capture. The sudden appearance of Omri and LeFou startled the entire group, and the younger of the men paid for his distraction when the mare squealed and reared again, striking him a glancing blow on the right shoulder with a foreleg.
LeFou was shouting before he even fully dismounted. "Get back!" he cried, hurrying forward. "Stay away from her, she'll kill you! Don't touch her!"
The two men, who by this time fully believed that the enraged mare might actually kill them, backed off obediently as LeFou pushed past. The black charger dropped to all fours and grumbled, her forelegs planted far apart and her ears pressed flat against her head.
"Hey!" hissed the younger of the two men as LeFou approached the trembling mare, but the other man stilled him with a touch on his arm.
"Good girl, Stella," LeFou addressed the horse nervously, inching closer, and stopping several paces away from her. "It's all right now, easy. They didn't know the rules, that's all. I set 'em straight. They're not gonna touch you."
Stella, her head held low, snorted as she took in LeFou's familiar scent. The one who rode her had disappeared and now the one who did everything else had come for her. She came forward slowly, her ears slightly lifted, to get a better smell.
Behind LeFou, the two men watched with interest as the nervous mare allowed the short man to take her reins. "Is it safe now?" the younger one whispered hoarsely as LeFou started to lead Stella slowly back towards Omri, who greeted his offspring with a low nicker.
"Don't ever try to touch Stella," LeFou advised as he continued to keep a close eye on the mare for signs of panic. "She doesn't like it."
"As we gathered," conceded the older man as the two moved to retrieve their horses. "She's a fine animal. So's the other one. Are they both yours?"
LeFou risked a look over his shoulder at the two men. The younger one was wiry thin, with brown hair and dark eyes, and looked no more than his own age. The other, while much older, had an impressive build. His hair, which had not thinned much with age, was white, and he had a moustache and light blue eyes. They were both dressed in the same uniform, which LeFou thought he may have seen before, long ago, and wore official-looking gold badges on their chests depicting two crossed arrows. Their horses had trappings in the same colors: blue and gold. Both horses were equipped with saddle quivers and a longbow was slung over the shoulders of each men.
"Only one. You two must have come a long way to hunt here," LeFou remarked curiously. "Where are you from?"
The men stole a glance at each other, and did not answer.
Assured now that Stella, further calmed by her sire's presence, was not going to attack anyone, LeFou turned around. "Don't remember?" he teased with a grin.
The men remained silent for a moment more, and LeFou got that weird feeling again. Before he could say anything else, the older man executed a short bow. "You have our thanks for calming down the mare before she could harm us. I hope you will excuse us now, as we must be on our way." He nodded at the younger man, and they both prepared to mount their horses.
"Wait!" LeFou blurted without thinking, stumbling forward and letting go of Stella's reins. "I mean - please," he amended as the men looked at him quizzically. "I'm looking for someone. This is his horse," he motioned to Stella. "Gaston. You know Gaston, right? I mean, of course you do - everyone does, I mean - he's Gaston!" Miraculously he managed to cut his rambling short as the weird feeling pressed down on him again. He took a deep breath and gulped. "Maybe...maybe you've seen him?"
Again the men exchanged a look, but this one was different, gloomier. "We should tell him," stated the older man suddenly, stepping away from his horse. When the younger man started to protest, he was interrupted with: "Nobody said we shouldn't say anything. It would be difficult to keep a secret for long anyways. I'll tell him if you won't." Then to LeFou (who was quite confused) he said, "My name is Bernaud, and this is Bain. We are the Prince's Royal Archers."
LeFou blinked several times. "Which Prince?" he asked, assuming they meant one far away, as there hadn't been princely rule in this area for at least ten years.
"Your Prince," replied Bernaud. "Prince Christophe."
"Never heard of him."
Bernaud nodded in understanding. "Come along," he said. "Let's find a place to have lunch. We have quite a tale for you, if you care to believe it."
It was dusk when LeFou returned to the village of Molyneaux. He was on foot and leading the two horses, whose mass formed walls on either side of him; their noses hung inches from the ground as they plodded along, matching their master's slow steps. As the procession crossed the town square on its way to the darkened tavern a few women and men standing about the square sharing evening gossip fell silent and stared.
"LeFou."
LeFou halted as the blacksmith's boots stepped into view. He didn't look up.
"LeFou," Denis repeated, as the others quietly crept up behind him to hear better. "Where's Gaston?"
Everyone held their breath as they waited for a reply. A mumbled, "He's dead," brought only stunned silence. "Gaston is dead," LeFou confirmed with more conviction, then the crowd parted as he proceeded, still never having looked up, on his way to stable the horses.