a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read
Part X:
"Legends Never Die..."
Gaston rode slowly through the woods, giving Stella free rein to go wherever she wished. He was in no hurry to go anyplace in particular, and he had taken no weapons with him when he had left that morning. He was not interested in game today.
He now understood what LeFou had meant the other day when he had tried to explain how the forest had changed. "It just feels different," LeFou had said, and Gaston had made fun of him. But now he could see what the other man was getting at. The place was different, somehow, although all the trees looked the same. It occurred to Gaston that perhaps he ought to apologise to LeFou for his behaviour, but presently the notion escaped him.
Although Gaston had ridden a couple of horses while in Danvers, he could not do so whenever he had wished as they did not belong to him. Having Stella available to him every minute of the day had already made a profound difference in the life of a man who could not move about as freely as he once could. The mare had become a sort of extension of his own body, allowing him to regain some of the speed and agility he had once possessed. When he rode Stella, Gaston felt whole again.
And so this morning, the very day after arriving back in Molyneaux, Gaston had taken Stella out for a ride well before dawn. Although he knew LeFou would have accompanied him, he had gone alone. He wanted to think. He wouldn't normally go out of his way to think, but this time the circumstances warranted it.
Prince Christophe had spared his life, but Gaston wasn't all that sure that he was off the hook entirely; the Prince clearly loathed him and may still decide to enact some other sort of punishment in time. Gaston didn't really know what sorts of things people were made to do when they committed crimes against the Crown, but he didn't want to ask anyone else lest he appear stupid. Best thing to do was simply wait for the hammer to fall, if it ever did. Why get grey hairs over something you can't help anyways? Satisfied with this logic (for now), Gaston breathed deeply, and absentmindedly added scent to the list of things different about the woods.
Little about Stella escaped Gaston's notice, and when she slowed imperceptibly and pricked her ears forward, he went on instant alert. Not too far off another person on horseback was moving slowly through the forest. It sounded like a big horse, too. Gaston shifted his weight and in response the black mare moved off of the path and into the darkness between the trees. Horse and rider waited in silence.
Presently a Clydesdale plodded slowly into view as his rider sat back in the saddle regally, wrapped in a cloak and with face obscured by a hood. Delicate hands gripped the reins, but Gaston didn't need that clue to know that this was a woman, for he recognised the horse and knew his owner at once. Gaston could have remained where he was unnoticed quite easily had he been alone, but Stella chose that moment to blow softly. Gaston made a quick mental note to work with her on remaining silent while hunting now that he was going to have to rely on her more - but that was of little import now. Phillipe stopped to sniff at the shadows, trying to figure out what horse was there, causing his rider to look as well. Defeated, Gaston urged Stella forward onto the path.
Belle pushed back her hood, staring at Gaston the way everyone did when they first caught sight of the man who was supposed to be dead, even if they had heard he was back. It was always that first glimpse that made them boggle, not exactly in disbelief, but in a sort of sensory denial, as if the mind simply could not fathom what it saw. Belle had that look on her face now.
"Gaston," she said, the way everyone did, as if trying to convince herself that what she was seeing was real. "It's really you. I heard...That is, Christophe..." Gaston, who had kept his expression neutral, was inwardly surprised when Belle suddenly broke into a dazzling smile, and he realised that perhaps this was the first time she had ever smiled that way at him. "Oh, Gaston," she said, moving Phillipe closer. "This is such a relief. I'm so glad."
Although Gaston had mentally rehearsed all kinds of unkind speeches and reactions he might give should he ever encounter Belle alone somewhere, that simple smile had all but disarmed him. How he had always wanted her to smile at him that way…and now, at last - when it was too late - she was. He switched tactics, putting on a pleasant face. "Are you," he said simply, trying to buy time for his brain to work out something appropriate.
"Yes," responded Belle, putting one hand over her heart. "I never wanted you dead, Gaston. I hope you never thought that."
Of course Gaston had thought that, and still did, but he decided to play along. "Now why would I think something like that?" he replied, not sounding as convincing as he would have liked.
Belle wasn't fooled for a second. Her smile vanished, replaced by a hurt expression. "I don't hate you, Gaston," she said quietly.
"And why should you?" replied Gaston. He scowled slightly. "You have nothing to fear from me. Not with Prince Furball and his guard dogs at your beck and call." He turned Stella around. "And your bodyguards over there can tell him I called him that, too."
Belle, who wasn't about to dignify Gaston's nickname for Christophe with a reaction, frowned at his second comment. "What bodyguards?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at the trees.
Gaston drew Stella to a halt, and twisted in his saddle to look back at Belle. "Those three thugs on horseback over there," he said, pointing to the very trees Belle was examining. "They're following you."
"Are they," Belle said so frostily that Gaston raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. "Come out at once," Belle called to the trees, sounding a lot like her husband. At her command three Royal Mounted Guards emerged onto the path, looking sheepish.
"Forgive us, Princess," said one, "but the Master - "
Belle sighed. "Ordered you to 'keep me in sight', I know. Well you've been found out, go on back to the Palace. I'll finish my walk alone, thank you." The three guards left obediently, and Belle turned back to Gaston.
"Christophe is always doing things like that," she explained with a shrug. "It's very annoying."
Gaston had to smile a little. "Has you on a short leash, does he?"
Belle smiled back, wryly. "Something like that," she replied.
"He the jealous type, too?"
A pause. "Perhaps a little," she had to admit, recalling a few instances at Royal functions before they were married, when Christophe would hover about her quite closely whenever there were good-looking noblemen in the room. "Why do you ask?"
"Because." Gaston shrugged self-importantly. "I am under Royal Decree to stay away from you."
Belle raised an eyebrow at him. "Then you, sir," she said amusedly, "are breaking the law."
"Yes I am," replied the other, a twinkle in his eye as he leaned towards her. "Worth it, wasn't it?"
Belle rolled her eyes. No doubt about it, Gaston was back. "None of that," she chided him. "We're both married now. Which reminds me, I'd better get back to Prince Furball before he sheds on something important."
That was too funny not to laugh at, and Gaston did. "I suppose I should get back to my old lady, myself," he announced presently.
"I won't keep you, then." Belle picked up Phillipe's reins. "Goodbye, Gaston."
"Wait," said Gaston suddenly, walking Stella to her side. Belle looked at him curiously. "What is it?" she asked.
Gaston slowly untied a fabric pouch from his belt. "I was going to keep this," he said, fingering the flat object in the pouch for a moment, "But I don't think I want it anymore anyways. Here."
Belle took it, and knew what it was even before pulling it out. "Thank you," she said, looking into the Magic Mirror nostalgically. "I thought it was gone."
"Well," said Gaston shortly, turning Stella around once again. He left without a goodbye.
"Full house," remarked Jessamyn, reaching into the depths of a cupboard for the last two mugs. "Was it always like this?"
"Not always," LeFou replied, taking the mugs and filling them. "Sometimes, though. I think that's the last of it," he told the girl, pressing on the keg's tap. "I knew there wouldn't be enough to last the night."
"I'm sure it won't matter," Jess smiled at him. "I don't think it was the ale everyone came for - Oh, I didn't mean it isn't any good or anything," she amended, afraid she may have hurt the other's feelings.
But LeFou waved her off good-naturedly. "Believe me," he said, "when Gaston is involved, it's never the ale that everyone comes for." He grinned. "Therein lies the secret."
"Well," said Jessamyn, handing the mugs to a villager, "I'm sure your ale will give Gaston a run for his money," she said with a wink. "Just give it some time." And with those words of wisdom she abandoned the bar, rejoining the throng of people in the taproom.
Hermes, Denis, Bertram, and Nicodeus stepped up to the bar then, Nicodeus tapping on it to get LeFou's attention.
"Sorry fellows," the brewer spoke up, "You just missed the last of it."
"That's not it," said Hermes, and he, Bertram, and Nicodeus all looked expectantly at Denis, who said nothing. Bertram elbowed him.
"Oh," said Denis, thus prompted. "Listen, LeFou. We all just, ah, wanted to say we're real glad to see the tavern open again. The old village wasn't the same without it."
"Well, it wouldn't have been much of a tavern without Gaston."
"It definitely would have been different," agreed Denis, glancing over at Gaston, who stood in front of a boar-head trophy surrounded by villagers, mostly young boys. He appeared to be telling another hunting story, judging by the way he was holding his crutch like a rifle and pretending to shoot it at some unknown enemy. Denis turned back to LeFou. "But it still would have been a good tavern," he said finally, and his three companions nodded.
Some commotion at the front door demanded everyone's attention, and when LeFou saw who it was he scurried right over the bar.
"Moira!" he cried, attempting to embrace his sister, but was completely foiled due to the fact that she was so pregnant he could only barely get his hands on her shoulders. He pulled a face at her. "Gee, Mo, how many you got in there? "
Moira laughed, as did several people in the vicinity. "According to the doctor, just one," she replied, patting her belly. "Lucky number seven." Maneuvering sideways, she managed the hug quite well. She wasn't much taller than her brother - whom she rather resembled - which helped, as she was so profoundly pregnant she clearly was incapable of any kind of stooping. "Where is he?" she asked, being too short to see over anyone's heads, and LeFou pointed her in Gaston's direction before greeting his brother-in-law.
"Piers," he said, shaking the thin, bespectacled man's hand. "How's the number business?"
"Exponential," replied the accountant, smiling thinly. "I see you aren't lacking in income, either," Piers added, taking in the crowded room.
"Not at all. Where are the kids?"
"With their nanny. We decided not to bring them all the way out here; you know how children can behave during a long wagon ride."
"Is Andre still quacking like a duck?"
"No. These days he prefers barking like a fox. Good heavens, what on Earth is that woman doing?" Piers interrupted himself, frowning at the bar.
LeFou turned to look. Several men were hoisting the ungainly Moira up onto the bar amid cheering. "I think she's going to sing," said LeFou. Moira had a pleasing voice and was often asked to sing when she visited the tavern.
Piers harrumphed as someone started playing a fiddle. Everyone began clapping in rhythm to a fast country song, while Moira sung the words. "In her condition," the accountant remarked with a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose there's no stopping her now. I'm going to see if there's some port." He ducked behind the bar, trying not to notice as his heavily pregnant wife jokingly lifted her skirts enticingly at the men, who laughed and cheered.
LeFou made his way over to Gaston, who was seated in his chair before the fire. The hunter's young audience had gone, and he was silently watching the lively scene at the bar, a contented look on his face. He glanced over as LeFou approached.
"Pretty good turnout, wouldn't you say, LeFou?"
"Sure is," replied the other, taking his place at Gaston's elbow. "You were right Gaston, I think just about everyone is here."
Gaston stretched languidly, closing his eyes and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Of course I was right," he stated. "Myself and this tavern make a good combination."
"You bet they do." LeFou hesitated. "We ran out of ale pretty quickly though. I should start ordering beer from Aglionby again."
"No."
LeFou frowned. "'No'?" he repeated.
Gaston opened one eye and peered over at LeFou. "No," he said again. "We don't need that mass-produced stuff. Let people drink fine, handcrafted ale for a change. And yours is the best."
LeFou frowned deeper. "It isn't the best, Gaston," he argued.
Gaston opened both eyes, put his arms down, and leaned forward. "Don't make that mistake, LeFou," he said seriously.
"What mistake?"
Gaston rubbed his jaw. "I'm going to tell you a secret," he said, putting an arm around LeFou's shoulders and glancing around furtively. Satisfied that no one would overhear, he went on. "If you want to be the best," he said clandestinely, "you have to think you're the best." He tapped his head with a forefinger for emphasis. "If you think you're the best, then you start to know you're the best, and pretty soon other people know it too."
LeFou blinked. "I'm not sure that's right," he said.
"Of course it is!" boomed Gaston, withdrawing his arm and sitting back. "And if you're really good, people start knowing you're the best even before you do. And I'm telling you, you are the best. At lots of things."
Now LeFou was sure he wasn't hearing Gaston right. "What do you mean? What things?"
Gaston rolled his eyes. "All right, look," he said, trying to be patient. "Didn't I take you with me hunting nearly every day after I met you? Haven't you been my partner in every competition, every tournament, all over this Principality? Didn't I pick you to go into business with? Yes, yes, and yes." Gaston threw his arms up in frustration. "I would only choose the best man in town to do all that with, wouldn't I? And don't I deserve the best?"
"Er." LeFou was at a loss. "Of course you do."
Gaston sank back into the chair with a grunt. "Well then," was his reply, satisfied that he had at last managed to get his point across. Really, Gaston thought grumpily to himself, LeFou can be so dense sometimes. Good thing he has me to think for him.
After a few moments of silence Gaston spoke up again. "Speaking of the best," he began, nodding towards the Fourreur triplets, who were busily flirting with a group of single men near the bar. "You aren't serious about those girls, are you?"
"Well, I dunno," said LeFou vaguely. "Why - do you think they're the best girls in town?"
"No, just the opposite."
"That's really not a very nice thing to say, Gaston," LeFou felt compelled to argue.
"How chivalrous of you. Now be quiet and listen." Gaston gestured at Jessamyn. The girl was gaily dancing with Piers, who seemed to finally be enjoying himself (he had, in fact, found some port behind the bar). "What do you think of her?"
LeFou blinked. "Jessamyn? She's just a kid!"
"She's eighteen. What are you, over the hill? I know she's a brat," Gaston went on. "But, she's my sister, and I'd rather see her with someone I trust than, well, someone I don't. You like her, don't you?"
"Well," LeFou hedged. He hadn't really thought about it.
"Of course you do," said Gaston, punching the other in the arm. "You might as well give it a shot," he said. "People are going to talk anyways."
He was probably right. Jessamyn had moved into Moira's old room, as she didn't want to intrude on Gaston and Emeline's privacy, and LeFou had offered. She in turn had offered to help out with the brewing and bottling, which was the only reason LeFou had at last agreed to reopen the tavern.
"Well, you can start by asking her to dance," grinned Gaston, giving LeFou a shove towards the crowd.
LeFou obediently approached Jessamyn, who was just then handing Piers off to Emeline. Jess looked up and smiled.
"I have bad news," LeFou said with a straight face as they started to dance. "Your brother says we have to get married."
Jessamyn feigned concern. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "Does this mean I have to call you by your first name?"
"No. You have to call me Pookiebear Sugarlips."
Gaston watched with satisfaction as LeFou said something to Jessamyn as they danced and she started laughing. He had been right, again. He looked up as Emeline walked up to him and sat on one of the arms of the chair.
"Didn't I tell you, Em?" Gaston asked smugly. "Didn't I tell you we'd have it all? A grand home, and a booming business? Look at this place: it's packed." Gaston put an arm around his wife. "Nothing but the best for us, just like I promised."
Emeline smiled her lemon-twist smile, and said nothing. She didn't need to.
end