A/N: I know, I know. I am a horrible, bad person for not posting for months and months slaps wrist bad me. Hope you like this.
Dizzy, head spinning from the dance, Belle and the Beast made their way outside, both walking with the unsteady steps of two drunk on each other.
Out on the balcony it was cool, and the air refreshed her, though she was not hot. Gently, she sat down, arranging her golden skirts so they didn't crinkle against the stone.
She looked out into the night, and sighed, looking out into the woods that stretched beyond. The moon was up, and from indoors, the Beast was lit with gentle golden light.
He looked at her, and his heart skipped a beat, seeing that those inquisitive, all seeing hazel eyes focused on him. She was so beautiful… he thought.
Gently, he reached down and retrieved her palm, encased in the pale yellow glove. 'Belle,' he whispered, looking at it.
'Are you… happy here?'
Belle's face broke into a sweet smile. 'Yes, of course!' she enthused, eyes bright. She looked down then, afraid that if she said any more it would spoil the aftermath of their dance, gently, she placed her hand atop his paw, but he had noticed her slight dismay.
'What is it?'
She avoided his gaze, and turned her head. Tears sparkled in her eyes.
'Belle?' he enquired anxiously, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. As soon as the gesture was done, he withdrew like a skittish horse.
'I'm sorry.' He whispered.
Belle looked at him then, pulled his paw. 'I am happy.' She insisted, feeling cruel for upsetting him. But she couldn't tell an outright lie either, tears leaked out of her eyes and she wiped them away fiercely.
Finally, she said, 'I love it here… I love the castle, the servants, I love…'
She put a hand to her mouth, trying to draw the words out, or trying to stop herself.
She turned away, tears coming now, and no amount of blotting could stem them. She couldn't say it, she really couldn't. She did not love him.
She loved his company, but she didn't, she couldn't. And he had been so kind to her, so wonderful. Is this who you are? She hissed at herself angrily, tears streaming down her face. Is this how shallow you are?
She made herself look at him, concern and guilt riddled his face. But she wasn't afraid of his face anymore. It wasn't his appearance that stopped her short of love for him. But he had been so good to her… why was the feeling not there?
'Belle, please tell me what's wrong.' He begged.
She took his paw. 'It isn't you.' She whispered, through her tears. She reached up to dry her face with her glove. He deserves the truth, at least. She thought.
'I wish I could see my father again.' She said honestly. 'If only for a moment… I miss him so much.'
Beast sighed with relief. A problem he could solve, at least. No she didn't love him. But it mattered little. He loved her, he would do anything for her. 'There is a way.' He said, finally.
She looked up, suddenly lighting with hope. He managed to make his eyes smile.
'Come with me.'
000
The West Wing was still dilapidated, but more cobwebs now hung in dreary hellishness, thick on the ceiling, coating the drapes, the furniture.
About to voice that he shouldn't still live here, she saw his face, pained, as if walking in here was a fierce test of his resilience.
She was unable to stop herself from looking around, gazing at the furniture: ripped apart, splintered wood everywhere she stepped. Her eyes travelled about the room, looking for the rose, the one she wasn't allowed to see.
He led her to the balcony, and from a dusty table he lifted a mirror, silver backed, with a long, handle. Age showed in the oily stains that sank deep into the decoration. The mirror itself was framed with silver roses, the petals as fragile as the real thing.
He offered it to her, and she took it, staring at her reflection. Out in the hall way, she had passed the smashed mirror, fragments of the glass still lay on the floor. Last she had past that her reflection had been scared, she had been in simple, every day attire.
As she looked at herself now, her stomach twisted as she saw the difference, the globes of gold glittering in her ear lobes, her longer than it had been when she arrived, trailing down her shoulder, where she had left it free of the clasp. Here eyes seemed more alive, brighter. Behind her, the beast, reflected in finery: the royal blue coat encasing drooped shoulders.
'What's it for?' Belle asked, indicating the mirror.
'It will show you anything you need to know. Just ask.'
Belle gazed at her reflection for a few minutes, not out of vanity, but because she knew her next question would hurt her.
'I'd like to see my father, please.' She said quietly.
For a moment nothing happened, then her own reflection rippled, and the surface of the mirror went a pearly colour. When the image cleared, snow whipped past, the trees of the woods were skeletal in pale light, a hunched form battled the wind, lantern in ice-white hand.
Belle felt her heart leap, 'Papa!' she whispered, distressed. Whatever she had expected to see, it wasn't this…
But you should have known. A part of her said solemnly. You should have known he would come after you.
Even as she watched, Maurice stumbled and fell into a deep drift, coughing heartily, his nose blue, her lips chapped, squinty eyes trying to see through the falling snow.
'Oh, Papa! He's sick! He might be dying! I must…'
She stopped. She was his prisoner.
She was bound not to leave. It was her life for her fathers, and her promise still remained.
The beast took her hand. 'Then. You must go to him.'
His voice was gentle, but pain was lanced through it, as though all his willpower was needed to make him say it.
'You mean… I'm free?'
She could scarcely believe it. She held her breath for his confirmation.
'Yes.' He said.
'Thank you, Oh, thank you!'
She said, handing him the mirror.
'Keep it.' He whispered, pushing it back toward her. 'So you'll always have a way to look back…. And remember me.'
Belle looked at the mirror, and smiled, holding it to her.
'Thank you for understanding how much he needs me.' She said, emotion entangled in her voice.
He looked away, eyes averted, filled with… was that tears?
She put a hand, very gently, on his face, turned, and walked away, first slowly, and then faster. He watched her go.
In her room, Belle shucked the dress as quickly as she could, trying not to rip it, though it was hard, Fleur, the maid servant turned to wardrobe form, found her old blue dress and brown leather boots at her request. They looked plain and worn next to the finery that lay on her bed, but she had no time to contemplate it. She donned her old clothes… remembering the last time she had worn them the Beast had saved her…
She threw the memory aside.
'You can't stay?' Fleur said mournfully. 'Won't you stay? Won't you please, dear?'
'I can't.' Belle said awkwardly removing the earrings, necklace and gold clasp from her hair, 'My father needs me.' Her brown locks fell loose, but she quickly tied them up once more, lifting them into a ribbon with quick fingers.
Fleur regretfully handed her old felt cape, a little torn and frayed at the bottom.
Belle pulled the drawstring into a knot, pressed a hand to the wardrobe and murmured her thanks. Picking up a bag, she left for the stables and saddled Philippe.
At the gate, she looked back, right up to the balcony of the west wing. The Beast stood in the shadows, but she knew he was there.
She turned, eyes filling with tears and nudged Philippe into a gallop.
'How did you feel that went Sir?' asked Mrs Potts from the end of the West Wing.
'The Lady seemed quite impressed, I thought... and…'
'I let her go.'
The words were disbelieving, and the Beast's eyes filled as he said it.
'You what?' Mrs Potts asked, in the same tone.
'I let her go.' He repeated.
Lumiere, not far from the door overheard, and came round the door.
'But why?' he asked desperately.
'Because.' The Beast whispered, emotion cracking his voice.
'I love her.'
