a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read
Part II:
"Stop the Fairytale, I Want To Get Off"
"Oyez, oyez!
"Greetings unto the populous of Molyneaux! This Proclamation announced by Royal Decree. 'Tis time to rejoice in the return of His Royal Highness, Prince Christophe d'Argentbrume, Sovereign of Silvermist. Prince Christophe has once again assumed the throne, and wishes all to delight in his gentle rule. All the subjects of the Principality are invited to join His Royal Highness and his consort at a Ball to be held at the Palace in ten days time, in deference to the ten years the throne stood empty. It is wished that all might attend in good spirits, and in good hope. Long live Prince Christophe! That is all."
Belle paused in her packing to listen self-consciously to the herald outside, feeling a shiver run up her spine when he said the words "his consort." By now, everyone in town must know who that was. The Prince's Royal Archers had returned from hunting the day after the enchantment was broken, reporting that they had told the entire story to a townsman, who had surely in turn informed the entire village. There was no going back now.
Maurice noticed his daughter had gone a bit rigid while in the process of putting books in a wooden crate and stepped up behind her, his own arms full of cogs and whatnots. "Belle," the old inventor prompted softy. "There's nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine. You've been fretting over what these villagers will think of you for days."
Belle sighed and stood up, picking up the crate. "I am worried, Papa," she said, turning around. "I've always been different. Now I'm much moreso." She looked down. "I really don't want anyone to think badly of me."
Maurice huffed. "You're their Princess!" he blurted. "Or you will be soon. They couldn't think more highly of you!"
"I'm not so sure." Belle looked around as someone stepped through the open door of the cottage. It was the servant who had been sent along with his wife in a wagon to help transport Belle and Maurice's personal effects back to the Palace. He smiled brightly at her, and she smiled back. All the servants had been so kind to her - and why not, Lumiere had pointed out. It was because of Belle that they had all been restored to their human forms. This servant, Belle had been told, had been a pitchfork in the stables, and his pretty wife had been a ladder. Belle couldn't help but wonder what it was like to spend ten years as a ladder in a horse stable.
As Belle handed the crate to the young man, she changed the subject. "That's the last of my things," she told her father. "I'm going to walk across town now, and give Monsieur Ockley his present."
Maurice watched Belle pick up a small stack of books, tied in a piece of deep blue velvet, off of an empty shelf where she had placed it. "Have a nice time," he told her almost sternly.
Belle knew what he was really trying to say, and she gave him a quick one-armed hug. "I'll see you later, Papa," she told him, and headed into the heart of the village.
"And we're so happy for you. Aren't we, Bertram?"
The baker wasn't paying attention.
"Aren't we, Bertram?" snapped his wife, poking him sharply in the side.
Bertram looked around wildly. "What? Wh - Oh. Oh, yes, dear. Of course."
Belle smiled and excused herself politely, aware of the way Madame and Monsieur Boulanger stared after her as she walked away. It had been like this ever since she had left the cottage: villagers dropping what they were doing to, one by one or in pairs, approach her and tell her how happy they were for her good fortune. Most of the villagers had always been pleasant, or at least, cordial, to her, but Belle knew that today the pleasantness felt a little forced. She tried not to let it make her uncomfortable as she continued in the direction of the bookshop.
A chorus of pert "Bonjour, Belle!" made her turn in surprise as the Fourreur triplets flocked to her side, big fake-looking smiles on their three porcelain faces.
"Bonjour Pamela. Chloe. Monette." She had no problem keeping them apart. "Isn't it a nice day?" Belle opted to remain stoically pleasant.
"Oh, yes," gushed Pamela, clasping her hands together and smiling harder. "It's lovely," added Chloe.
'The crops could use some rain," Monette put in brightly. The other two glared momentarily at her, then Pamela turned back to Belle.
"We're so jealous of you," she beamed, stepping forward and taking Belle's free hand (her other arm was still cradling the bundle). "Becoming a Princess, going to live in a big castle..."
Chloe bobbed her head. "We can't wait for the Ball! Oh, I'm going to need a new dress, and shoes..."
"Belle!" Monette squealed as the three closed in all around. "Are there going to be a lot of handsome noblemen there? Oh please, please say there will!"
Belle rescued her hand from Pamela and took a step backwards. "Oh, Monette, I don't know!" she laughed. "It will be my first Ball too. The only people I've met so far are Christophe's servants."
The triplets all wrinkled their noses at the very notion of meeting a servant. "Oh," said Pamela, a little hollowly. "Well, congratulations, Belle!" she squealed as all three smiled once more.
"Thank you," said Belle a little humbly, turning to go. "I'll see you at the Ball. I'm glad you're coming."
"We'll be there," responded Chloe, and they all waved. "Goodbye!" they chorused. Belle didn't see their smiles melt like hot wax the moment she turned her back.
Belle crossed the town square, a little more cheerful. Everybody really is just trying to be friendly, she told herself silently, swinging the bundle with one hand as she walked. They're just a little…overwhelmed. Like me. They have no idea how overwhelmed I am! she thought, her smile broadening. Her spirits lifted further as she laughed inwardly at herself. I shouldn't be worried about what the villagers think, I'm the one whose life is changing. She felt a little foolish for being so preoccupied with how everyone else felt. Besides, they seemed to be glad enough.
She stopped in her tracks suddenly as she realised where she was. She was right outside the tavern. It took her a moment to figure out what had made her stop and then she found it: the sign reading "Ye Pub" had been taken down, and all the shutters were closed. And, it was quiet in there. By this time of the day there would usually be at least a few people inside, but it was apparent that it was empty. Belle stood there thoughtfully, absently stroking the velvet cloth tied around the books. She knew it was likely that the tavern was closed because Gaston was gone.
The night that the enchantment on the castle was broken - and that Gaston had fallen to his death - was five days in the past now. At Belle's urging Christophe had sent a party of men out to search for Gaston's body but it was not found. Considering the location of the parapet from which he had fallen, though, that wasn't entirely a surprise; after all, it was near enough to the river that Gaston might have tumbled into it. Considering the recent spring runoffs, the river flowed high and wild, and the body had likely enough been swept away. Falling into the river wouldn't have saved his life whether the water was high or not: that part of the river was shallow, the current swift, and its course strewn with boulders and craggy rocks. Body or no body, there was no disputing that Gaston was dead.
Belle gazed at the tavern. Monsieur Ockley had told her once that it had once been LeFou's house, that he and Gaston had done some renovating and now it was a tavern and that LeFou still lived there in one of the remaining rooms. Belle had a sudden urge to tell LeFou that she was sorry Gaston was dead. She didn't like LeFou, she didn't respect him, but as Gaston had no kin, talking to him would be the closest thing to speaking with a relation. She had greatly disliked Gaston (Belle didn't like to admit to herself that she could hate anyone) but she did feel some sorrow over his demise. She was sorry he was dead.
Before she knew what she was doing Belle was knocking on the door. "LeFou?" she called towards the nearest shuttered window. There were no answering footsteps, and Belle realised that with all the shutters closed she should have known he probably wasn't home. But as she removed her hand from the door, she saw it give slightly. It hadn't been shut all the way. The tavern was always kept locked when closed (the kegs had a way of "mysteriously" running dry otherwise), and so, assuming someone was in fact inside, Belle pushed the door open.
"Hello?" Belle stepped into the taproom, absently setting her bundle down on the bar as she looked around. The open door let in some light, but with the shutters closed the room was fairly dark. It was enough to see by, though, and Belle gazed around.
She had only ever been in the tavern once, less than three years ago, soon after she and Maurice had moved to Molyneaux from Chaffee hoping to start a new life after her mother had passed away. It was in the tavern that she had met Gaston for the very first time, and he had instantly rubbed her the wrong way. All the animal trophies he had decorated the place with (there are more now, she noticed) had disturbed Belle, and she never returned to the tavern again after that day. Killing an animal for food, for clothing, to make useful items from their bodies was perfectly acceptable to Belle; she had nothing against hunters who were only doing what they had to do to help themselves and others. But to preserve a poor slain animal's head and stick it up on the wall to be stared at for amusement frankly put a knot in Belle's stomach. Gaston's tales of how he killed each animal saddened and sickened her, as did the way the other townspeople cheered him on for it.
Belle walked slowly about the room. She didn't know if there were normally sheets over everything during non-operating hours or if they had been put there because the place had been closed permanently. Sheets covered the tables, the shelves of mugs - even Gaston's chair, made horribly (Belle had thought) entirely out of animal parts. The bearskin rug the chair normally dominated had been rolled up, and Belle spotted it shoved against a side wall. She remembered being particularly disgusted with the bearskin; Gaston had told her that he had wanted it stuffed intact but its underside was so mutilated that the taxidermist was unable to do anything with it but make a rug. Whole pieces had been missing, Gaston had told her proudly. Recalling the gleam in his eye when he had said that, Belle shuddered.
Leaning on the wall behind the rolled-up rug was the painting of Gaston that had hung over the fireplace. It too was covered with a sheet, but only partially. Belle approached it and gingerly lifted a corner of the cloth to peek at the portrait.
She dropped the sheet suddenly when a door behind the bar opened and LeFou's silhouette stepped into the semidarkness of the taproom. He ducked out of sight behind the bar and rummaged around with something and Belle knew he hadn't seen her. She stood up straight and took a step in his direction as he reappeared, holding a borer used to make holes in kegs so taps could be inserted. He spotted her then, as she stood in the shaft of light coming from the open door. He blinked a few times then stared at her in silent surprise.
Belle had to squirm a little; she had after all entered the tavern - his home? - without permission, and she quickly put on a warm smile, clasping her hands behind her as if to say, I wasn't touching anything. "Hello LeFou," she greeted him. "I - My father and I were in the village, and I was…I was walking by…"
While she was speaking, LeFou, still staring at her, sidestepped around Belle and placed himself so he was facing her with the painting at his back. As Belle trailed off awkwardly he cast one glance behind him before asking her, "Why are you here?"
Belle unclasped her hands and re-clasped them in front of her. "Well, I wanted to - "
At once LeFou narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he blurted, stepping towards her. Belle noticed he was gripping the borer tightly and instinctively retreated.
"I just wanted - " Belle trailed off again. What did she want? What did she think she was going to say? I might never have liked Gaston, but I'm sorry he's dead, you will come to the Ball, won't you?
"What do you want?" LeFou demanded, continuing his advance. Belle noticed she was being herded backwards towards the front door. "Do you have something to say to me? Say it."
As she passed the bar Belle reached out with her left hand to fumblingly retrieve her stack of books. She hugged it close. He was angry. She wished he weren't. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry for everything that happened." There was a pressure in her chest.
"Sorry for what?" LeFou snapped. He held the borer out at arm's length as he continued to stalk forward. "Sorry you've gone to live in a castle and marry a Prince? Isn't that what you've always wanted? To be better than everyone else? Or have you even noticed the difference?"
Belle stumbled backwards through the doorway into bright sunlight and suddenly they were both in the square. She was aware that there was a crowd gathered and wondered if they had been following her all day, and had been waiting for her outside the tavern since she went in.
Something possessed Belle and she shrieked out, louder than she had intended: "I'm not better than everyone else!" Suddenly she lost her footing and landed, hard, on her backside on the cobbled street. The bundle of books tumbled out of her grasp and came to a rest a few feet away. Belle sat there, not aware of the pain in her tailbone and the heels of her hands as LeFou stopped in front of her. She stared at him, as everyone else stared at her.
LeFou was positively exuding fury. "Don't give me that!" he shouted back, his knuckles white. "All you've ever done is parade around here with your nose in the clouds, always reading some book and looking down on everyone! You've always acted like you thought you were better!" He clenched his teeth and brandished the borer at Belle as if warding her off. "Don't you ever set foot in my house again!" he ordered her. "You don't belong here, and you never did! Everything that's happened is your fault! A man is dead because of you! But you go on to your stupid Ball and pretend like nothing happened. I hope you rot." As he spat out the last words LeFou turned on his heel, skulked into the tavern, and slammed the door so violently that the shutters vibrated.
Belle was petrified with horror. She stared at the door for a few moments, then slowly turned her head to take in the crowd, still standing in a circle around her where she half-lay on the cobblestones. After about a minute of uneasy silence she got slowly to her feet.
"Is that what everyone thinks? That I think I'm better than you? That I'm responsible for Gaston's death? Is that what you all think?" Her voice shook, but her jaw was set; no tears had come to her eyes. She shot glances at every face, seeing embarrassment, pity, and on a few, contempt. At a disgusted "Hmpf," she looked around at the Fourreur triplets, who were pouting at her, faces reddened, with their arms crossed. Suddenly Monette spat out, "You could have at least saved him for someone else if you didn't want him!"
At that all three women burst into tears and fled the square. Belle felt the atmosphere get significantly frostier.
Suddenly she couldn't stand it any more. Putting her hands over her face, she whirled and bolted for the bookstore.
"There there, now, drink this tea - it will make you feel better."
Belle did not take the cup Monsieur Ockley offered her. She briefly mused that Mrs. Potts and the old bookseller had a little something in common.
"No thank you," she whispered.
The shopkeeper sighed, set the cup down on an endtable, and sat beside Belle on the chaise. "Belle," he said softly. "You know there are at least some people in this town who like you." He cleared his throat and winked at her.
Belle knew he was referring to himself. "Oh I know you like me…" She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.
"You know, you shouldn't spend all your time worrying about what others think of you. It's a very bad habit to get into."
"You sound like my father." Belle picked up her tea and drank a little. "But…I think LeFou was right. I never did belong here."
At that Monsieur Ockley frowned, and he took off his spectacles to polish them with his handkerchief. "It's not a good idea to believe you don't belong somewhere," he admonished. "Remember, belief - "
"- Begets truth," Belle finished for him, smiling a little. "You told me that years ago. I've always liked that phrase." She set the teacup back down. "I know you're right," she said quietly. "But I can't help believing it a little."
The bookseller was silent for a moment as he replaced his spectacles. "You know, Belle," he said at length, "people who wish to better themselves through books, and deep thinking…"
"You mean like you and me?" Belle prodded slyly, her smile growing.
Monsieur Ockley gave her faintly amused look. "Yes, that is what I was getting at," he admitted. "Anyway, we really are at more of a disadvantage than we might think at times."
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is, that sometimes, while we are so busy bettering ourselves, we forget that there are other people around us with different things to do, that are just as important to them as bettering oneself is to us. Do you understand what I am saying, Belle?"
Belle looked down at her lap. "I think so," she replied slowly. "He was right, then, at least about that. I have acted like I was superior to everyone else. I haven't meant to," she blurted defensively, seeking Monsieur Ockley's eyes.
The bookseller shook his head gently. "Of course you haven't," he assured her. "Everyone is different, Belle. It's understanding that…well, that's the key. You see?"
Belle smiled again. "Yes," she replied.
"Good." Monsieur Ockley patted her hand. "Now, don't you mind young Ignatius," he told her. "He was a spitting ball of fury when he lost his father, too. Then Gaston arrived and gave him a new hero to adulate. Who knows, maybe someone else will come along and do the same. Drink your tea, now, go on. It's no good cold, you know."
Belle drank obediently.
A bell tinkled as someone opened the shop door. It was Maurice. "Belle, there you are," he breathed with relief. "I thought you might be here but I was worried that…" He trailed off and held out the velvet-wrapped bundle as he came in the rest of the way. "You dropped this in the square," he finished.
"Oh, Papa!" Belle sprang up, cup still in hand, and took the bundle. "It completely slipped my mind." She turned to the shopkeeper. "Monsieur, I brought these for you. They're from the Palace Library; Christophe wanted you to have them, after I told him about you."
Greatly pleased, the bookseller came forward and took the bundle from Belle. "Why Belle, I'm honored," he said. Placing the bundle on a table, he untied the knot at the top, letting the velvet cloth open. "Thank you," he beamed, running his hands along the stack of books, and then picking up the top one. Opening it, he smiled at the contents. "And please thank your Prince for me as well. These are splendid indeed."
"I'm glad you like them. I read them over the winter, and I thought you would enjoy them."
"I'm sure I shall."
A few minutes later, after some warm goodbyes, Maurice stepped outside, holding the door open for his daughter. As Belle moved to follow, she paused and turned back.
"Oh and, Monsieur," she said, raising an eyebrow and trying to appear very serious, "don't enjoy those books too much. You wouldn't want people to misunderstand your intentions."
Monsieur Ockley nodded gravely, suppressing a smile. "I will make it my duty, Mademoiselle."