a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read
Part IIX:
"I Do, Already"
LeFou was roused from a sound sleep by someone vigourously shaking his shoulder and hissing "LeFou! Get up!" in his ear. He slowly opened his eyes to see Gaston leaning over him, a lantern in one hand.
"Come on!" urged Gaston eagerly. "We're going hunting!"
Oh God. He hadn't been kidding during dinner the day before, then. LeFou closed his eyes. "Gaston, I had too much to drink," he protested weakly.
Gaston went to the window and threw the shutters open, which did absolutely nothing because it was still pitch-black outside. "Nonsense!" replied the hunter, for a moment forgetting to keep his voice down. "I've seen you drink far more than that and still manage to stay in the saddle the next day. Hurry and get up before it gets light - I've got the horses all ready."
LeFou peered blearily at him. "Did you sleep at all?" he wanted to know as he sat up. "All right," he agreed as he always did. "Just give me a minute."
Gaston grinned at him like a little boy at Christmas, then he thumped out of the room.
"Gaston, wait up," complained LeFou as he urged a groggy Omri down the trail, trying to keep the other in sight.
Stella, however, apparently wasn't tired. "Hurry up," Gaston called back before disappearing into the foggy darkness beyond the light of LeFou's lantern. Gaston did not carry a lantern while hunting, no matter how dark it was. He didn't need to, always managing to get along just fine on his own instincts.
A trickling sound ahead told LeFou he was almost upon the river; and in a moment Omri had stumbled upon its bank. This part of the river flowed peacefully, and the thin crescent moon reflected sharply on its near-still surface.
Gaston had stopped Stella on the bank a few yards away, and he was staring now at the river in silence (LeFou noticed at this moment that Gaston had rigged up a sort of back-sling for his crutch so he could have a place to put it while riding). LeFou looked between Gaston and the water for a moment before making a face and blurting, "Geez, Gaston, can't you keep your clothes on for once? It's freezing!"
Gaston looked at the other in surprise for a moment before the comment registered, and he gave a half-hearted chuckle. "No," he said, and pointed at the river. "Look there. That's the spot where Cecil found me."
LeFou gazed at the indicated place with some reverence. "Really? Oh." He paused uncomfortably before looking over at Gaston again. The hunter's expression had hardened.
"Gaston?" LeFou prompted, concerned.
Gaston spoke in a bitter whisper. "I'm broken, LeFou," he said.
"Come again?"
"I said I'm broken," Gaston snapped back, glowering. "That damn river chewed me up and spit me out." He spread out his hands. "Look at me - I used to be great."
LeFou blinked at him, confused. A mood swing like this was typical of Gaston, but LeFou just hadn't been expecting it after the events of the day before. "But, you're still - "
"Don't give me that," Gaston shot back, and LeFou closed his mouth with a snap. "Even you aren't that stupid. I used to be the best, LeFou: the best hunter, the best tracker, the best marksman. And now I'm crippled. Don't you know what that means?"
Mutely, LeFou shook his head.
"It means it's over. This is the end of the line. I'm going to die a crippled nobody in this backwoods fishing hole." He glared out over the river.
LeFou stared. Had Gaston had him completely fooled?. Perhaps it had been his own wishful thinking that led him to believe that his friend was happy with his new life. Had it all been a front? A year may have been sufficient to restore most of Gaston's health, but what had it done for his emotional wounds? LeFou twisted Omri's reins between his hands anxiously. "But...you're getting married today," he pointed out.
Gaston turned cold blue eyes on his companion. "Belle should have been my wife," he replied shortly.
So, now it all came oozing out. "But Belle didn't even like you!"
Suddenly Gaston had LeFou by the lapels and had ripped him out of Omri's saddle. "She should have been mine, LeFou!" Gaston shouted venomously, his face contorted with fury. "What did she want with that ugly Beast, anyways, when I was right there." With that he tossed LeFou to the ground and sunk back into his saddle. "And then it turns out that the horrible thing was a Prince in disguise the whole time," he muttered darkly. "And now I can't even show my face outside this village or risk being locked up for attempted murder."
LeFou picked himself up off of the damp ground slowly, a bit shaken. He wasn't really quite sure what to say. "Gaston, I don't understand," he fumbled. "I thought you were happy here. I thought you wanted to marry Emeline. She's way better than Belle," he added obsequiously.
Gaston didn't answer right away. "Yes," he said vaguely at last, looking away.
LeFou hauled himself back up into Omri's saddle. "Look, Gaston," he said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything you had to go through. But I think you're wrong. About being...Well, I'll bet you're still the best hunter in the world. And you've got the best weapons, and the best horse, and soon you'll have the best wife - better than Belle," he reiterated firmly. "Only the best for you, just like always."
He stopped then, waiting for a reply. Gaston's face had gone neutral, which could mean anything. Taking his chances, LeFou rattled on:
"Forget about that Prince. He only gets respect because he wears a pointy hat. I'll bet he hasn't been hunting in his whole life. Belle can have him, and that Palace, too. I've been there, it's kinda creepy. Faces carved in all the stone everywhere. And too many windows. Yessir, you're pretty lucky to be marrying Emeline - who's better than Belle." Still no reply. LeFou coughed nervously. "Um, sun's coming up," he commented.
At that Gaston's expression cleared. "Yes," he said. "We'd better hurry and catch that game, then, shouldn't we? I wouldn't want to come home empty-handed to my wife-to-be - " he caught LeFou's prodding look, " - who's better than Belle," he concluded.
"Much better than Belle," LeFou nodded approvingly. As he led Omri into step behind Stella while Gaston turned the mare back around onto the trail, LeFou fell deep into thought. Obviously things around here were not as cut-and-dry as they had at first seemed. All of a sudden that jar of worms was starting to look more like a barrel.
Oh well, LeFou mused to himself, how bad could it possibly get? Then again, he had seen how bad it could get. In the end LeFou decided to do what he always did around Gaston: put on a cheerful face and hope for the best.
At least there was a nice wedding to look forward to, right?
"Stake 'er down tighter, boys, wind's pickin' up." At Caspar's command several village men went to work on the pavilion, which had begun to dance a bit in the wind. The old canvas tent had been bedecked with ribbons and flowers and streamers of brightly-coloured fabrics in honour of the day's event, and a few said it had never looked finer.
Gaston had managed to track down a wild sow that morning, and caught two suckling pigs. Emeline had commandeered one of them, claiming she had a surprise in store. How she was going to prepare a pig and get ready for her own wedding was a mystery to LeFou, but from what he'd seen of her talents so far he was certain she could manage it.
By the time the wedding procession started for the pavilion the wind was positively roaring, making quite a racket as it whipped at the canvas. Monsieur Dupres, a retired judge and also the town's priest, waited for their arrival at a makeshift podium at the back of the pavilion muttering nervously about being blown "clear to St. Peter's cowshed."
The villagers (minus the judge and the few men working on securing the pavilion) gathered outside the Lecroix house, spirits high. Weddings didn't happen often enough in the tiny village, and each one was a very special event. Of course everyone wore their finest clothing (although the ladies had a time keeping their skirts from blowing over their heads in the fierce wind).
There was a burst of applause as Gaston stepped onto the porch with Emeline on his arm. His suit and her dress - both made in varying shades of white and off-white - were simply splendid (the tailor and his entire family having been working on them for months now); and Gaston had the presence of mind to pause on the porch before descending for full dramatic effect. He was, as always, dashing and handsome; and she, with a wreath of white flowers atop her honeycoloured hair, was breathtaking.
They glided elegantly off of the porch (remarkable how easy it is to forget someone's using a crutch when it's wielded by one who looks so grand) and towards the pavilion, followed closely by LeFou and the Lecroixes, and finally everyone else. Laughing, the village children blocked the couple's path every few yards with a white ribbon, which Emeline cut gaily with a pair of the tailor's best shears. At last they reached the pavilion and the flaps secured against the wind once everyone was inside.
Gaston discreetly handed his crutch to LeFou and he and Emeline stood before the podium, his blue eyes locked on her green ones. Monsieur Dupres cleared his throat loudly, and they at last turned to him.
"Shall we begin?" he asked them in his gravelly voice, eliciting a chuckle from the crowd. Taking this as their cue, Cecil, Fedore, and Madame and Doctor Lecroix stepped forward with a large square of pale gold silk fabric. Each holding one corner, they stood on stools, the Lecroixes on one side of the couple and the fisherman and his son on the other, and held the canopy over the bride and groom's heads. The ceremonial carre thus in place, Monsieur commenced the service.
But it soon became apparent that Gaston and Emeline weren't listening. "Not yet," the judge ordered as the couple tried to steal a kiss. "I'll tell you when you're allowed to do that." The villagers snickered.
A few moments later it happened again. "I said not yet," snapped the judge, physically pushing Gaston away from Emeline this time. "There'll be plenty of time for that. You only get one wedding."
It was at about this time that the first tearing sound could be heard. "What's that?" whispered Madame Lecroix nervously, looking around.
"Look Mama," said a little girl, pointing at a rip in the ceiling of the pavilion. "The wind's trying to get in."
"You'd better hurry," Doctor Lecroix advised the judge.
"Yes, yes," returned Monsieur Dupres, nudging up his spectacles and trying to remember where he had left off. "Ah," he said when he remembered, and then "Not yet!" when he caught Gaston and Emeline skipping to the end again. "You two," he said, indicating LeFou and Jessamyn. "I'm putting you in charge of keeping these two apart until I have finished."
Obediently, Jess took ahold of Emeline's left arm, and LeFou hooked the top of Gaston's crutch into the groom's jacket.
"That's better," grumped the judge, amid laughter. "Do you, Emeline," he went on, "take this man beside you as your husband, to love and cherish, to honor and comfort, to caress as you would be caressed, to be a friend and partner, to approve of and respect, as long as you both shall live?"
That lemon-twist smile. "I do."
"And do you, Gaston, take this woman beside you as your wife, to love and cherish, to honor and comfort, to caress as you would be caressed, to be a friend and partner, to approve of and respect, as long as you both shall live?"
"Yes," snapped Gaston impatiently, further amusing the crowd. LeFou shoved him a bit with the crutch. "Er, I do."
"I now - "
It was then that it happened. With a sudden, horrible rip, the pavilion practically threw itself upon the assemblage as the poles tore their way through the old canvas and the guylines detached themselves from their stakes. Everyone screamed as they found themselves floundering in a sea of stiff fabric.
"Don't panic, don't panic!" yelled Casper, untying the front flaps and wriggling out (good thing he had been standing at the back of the gathering). "Everyone just follow the sound of my voice! Out this way!"
The pavilion emptied quickly as everyone - or nearly - made his or her way outside.
"Hey, where's the happy couple?" Fedore wanted to know.
Caspar and a couple other men walked the pavilion opening to the back and revealed Gaston and Emeline, right where they had been standing the whole time, engaged in a particularly steamy kiss.
Monsieur Dupres fumed. "Not ye-" he started to protest, then just shrugged. "Well, close enough."
Gaston and Emeline pulled apart amid cheering. Emeline gasped in surprise and the crowd cheered harder as LeFou suddenly popped out of the crumpled canvas beside the new bride, triumphantly holding aloft her garter. "I got it!" he shouted, darting away before Gaston could grab him (traditional as it was for the Best Man to steal the garter, LeFou wasn't taking any chances that Gaston wouldn't pound him for snatching something off of his new wife's leg).
"Throw it here!" called the weaver's daughter eagerly.
"Nah, it's too windy," LeFou told her. "I'd better just keep it." And with that he ran off laughing, half of the villagers on his heels.
After the garter had been wrested away (by the weaver's daughter, I may add), the villagers surrounded the newlyweds, still in the middle of the fallen pavilion, while they drank wine from the double-handled marriage cup. Then, unable to carry his bride in the traditional way due to his handicap, Gaston merely slung her over his right shoulder, fetched up his crutch, and went back to the Lecroix house, theirs exclusively until the next day.
Doctor and Madame Lecroix, Jessamyn, and LeFou had been invited to spend the rest of the day and the night in Cecil's home. Jess and LeFou retired to the back porch, which was well in the lee of the wind (which had conveniently begun to die down).
"What did Gaston tell you about what happened to him when he first came here?" LeFou asked bluntly when Jessamyn had poured the tea.
Jessamyn shrugged and picked up her cup. "It was a while before he told us anything," she said slowly. "After he woke up, and found out he was hurt, and that he was way out here..." She hesitated while LeFou watched her expectantly. "He didn't say much for the first few months. He yelled a little, but it wasn't anything anyone could really understand…Most of it was about Belle," Jess added shortly, and took a sip of tea.
LeFou, who was about to do the same, looked up in surprise. He quickly set his cup down. "What did he say about Belle?"
Jess hesitated, taking another sip. "He cursed her," she replied at last.
There was silence between them as LeFou uneasily reclaimed his teacup and they sat there nursing their tea for a couple of minutes. At last Jessamyn said something.
"He was upset for a long time."
"How long?"
"Through the end of summer."
LeFou looked at Jessamyn quizzically. "How upset?" he wanted to know.
Jessamyn exhaled. "You of all people should know the extent of Gaston's temper."
"Of course, I - "
"Well double that. At least." Jessamyn narrowed her eyes. "Very upset. Mama and I wanted Papa to throw him out before he hurt someone during one of his tantrums. But it's not Papa's way to turn out an injured man. And Emeline..."
Jess paused to gather her thoughts, LeFou hanging impatiently on her words.
"Well, Emeline..." Jessamyn frowned. "Emeline's hard to describe. She's just...not afraid of anything. And she can wait for something forever. That's what she did: she waited. She wasn't afraid of Gaston, so she sat in that room with him every day, for months and months, waiting for him to calm down. And then the first day of the fall harvest he comes out of the house, leaning on her, and thanks everyone for saving his life. It was the damndest thing."
LeFou refilled both their cups. "Gaston's not as easy to figure out as everyone wants to think," he said thoughtfully. "He's not a one-trick pony, although he acts like it a lot of the time." He swirled the contents of his cup. "How do you think he feels about Belle now?" he asked curiously. He was still wondering about that morning.
Jessamyn folded her hands on her lap. "We had to take the Magic Mirror away from him once we found out what it did because he kept asking it to show her to him," she said. "We figured it was just aggravating him. Emeline told me that, after we gave it back to him later, he never once asked to see Belle again."
"He just spied on me."
Jess smiled. "Only a couple of times."
"Well, you didn't tell me," said LeFou, "what Gaston told you about...you know, that night. The Prince said that Gaston stabbed him and then fell accidentally over the railing."
Jessamyn nodded slowly. "Gaston said he was trying to kill the Beast; he lost his balance and fell off the parapet."
"Did he say he thought it was Belle's fault? Or the B - er, the Prince's?"
Jess raised an eyebrow at him. "Why are you asking?"
"Well..." LeFou shrugged. "I was just wondering if he blamed them for anything."
"He blamed them for everything."
LeFou shook his head sadly. "Gaston was right, then," he murmured. "He'll never be able to leave this place."
"What do you mean? What was he right about?"
LeFou sighed. "Belle and Prince Christophe might have found it in their hearts to forgive Gaston and let him go free," he explained, "but if Gaston can't find it in his heart to forgive them, he'd be better off here for the rest of his life."
"Ready?" asked Caspar. "Then: let's go!"
The village men and women descended upon the Lecroix house, whooping and hollerring and banging pots and pans together, and generally making enough racket to raise the dead.
At last the front door opened to reveal Gaston, still in his wedding attire, scowling exaggeratedly. "Do you mind keeping it down?" he said in mock anger, trying not to smile. "We're on our honeymoon, you know."
Emeline, in her white gown, appeared behind Gaston. She was smiling. "Oh dear," she said softly. "Look at all the people. You know what we have to do."
"Right," replied Gaston agreeably. "Get my musket," he told her, and the villagers laughed, at which he joined in. "Well, get in here before I change my mind," he grinned, moving aside to give everyone access to the house.
Crashing the couple's first night as newlyweds (and being invited inside for refreshments) was tradition, and of course the guests had been expected. The remaining keg of ale LeFou had brought had been tapped, and the two suckling pigs lay plated up on the dining table - the one Emeline had claimed that morning in a surprising form. She had made a cockentrice, a quaint, old-fashioned dish where the front half of a suckling pig and the back end of a capon are sewn together into a "mythical beast" and roasted stuffed with a bread and suet mixture. Everyone gathered around to admire it.
"Only our Emeline would have thought of that," chuckled Cecil approvingly. "I'll bet even the Prince himself didn't have one of those at his wedding feast." LeFou decided to refrain from listing what the Prince had had at his wedding feast - he'd never eaten so well in his entire life.
Even utilising all the major rooms, the house was a little too crowded. Under normal circumstances the feast would have been moved to the pavilion but people would just have to make do with Standing Room Only. Plates of food and mugs of ale were passed carefully around from person to person until everyone was served, and then the toasts began.
After nearly an hour of toasts, Gaston held up his hands to signal that he wanted to speak. Everyone dutifully fell silent.
"I wanted to thank you all," he began loudly, so that everyone could hear him, even in the next room, "for giving Em and I such a lovely wedding."
Enthusiastic cheers.
"And," Gaston went on, putting his right arm around Emeline, "for giving me a place in your village."
Even more enthusiastic cheers.
"Which is why I hope I don't disappoint you," he said, "when I tell you that I am taking Emeline with me to my home in Molyneaux."