I decided to go back and tackle a moment that I think gets overlooked a lot in fics and in the film. It's so critical to the establishment of Belle and Beast's relationship that it deserved some extra attention. This is #11 of my one-shots, but it is first in chronological order. Please leave me a comment!
Disney owns the rights to the characters, and some dialogue is taken directly from the script. I have embellished and given finer details to this scene.
Worth the Fight
Belle fled from the castle. Her feet raced across the stone pathway as she secured her cloak around her shoulders. It hadn't even been half a day and she was breaking the promise she'd made to the Beast. But how could she possibly stay with that thing? She'd meant no harm poking around the West Wing. And until she was there, observing his destroyed belongings and mysterious floating rose, she'd had no idea it was his private chambers!
She regretted her curiosity now. Never in her life had she felt more frightened. Her heart hammered in her chest. Every step was made in desperation. She didn't know if servants would take chase, or if he would come after her himself, but she wasn't taking any chances. She needed to get far away from this place as quickly as she could.
Philippe wandered around the gated entry, and Belle leapt onto him with far more skill than she thought she'd possessed. Without wasting a second, she spurred him on, kicking open the gate as they flew down the steps, leaving the looming shadow of the enchanted castle behind her.
The entire day felt like a horrible nightmare; from the moment she saw Philippe return to the village without Papa, to finding Papa half-frozen in some awful prison in the tower of an abandoned castle, to having her only family ripped away by a cruel monster that didn't even have the compassion to let her say goodbye. But not everything had been so bad. He'd surprisingly given her a beautiful room when she fully expected to remain in a cold, damp, locked tower. Then there was the delightful meal the servants prepared. Dealing with the Beast was the only truly disagreeable part of having to remain. He'd been so callous, so commanding, and an absolute tyrant. Who did he think he was, demanding she dine with him as if she were at his beck and call? She'd never kowtowed to the barbaric brutes in town, and she wasn't about to start now.
Maybe she should have heeded his warning. She should have stayed out of the West Wing. It was another in a long list of trouble her curiosity had gotten her into. If only he'd just been honest with her!
How could she have known it was his bedroom? All he'd done was issue a decree that the West Wing was "forbidden." If he'd just said, "My room is in the West Wing, please respect my privacy," she'd have had no problem keeping away. But making it "forbidden" was a temptation an adventurous girl like Belle couldn't resist.
But there was no taking it back now. All that was left to do was get home before she was caught and dragged back.
Branches scraped her as she urged Philippe to ride faster through the cold, quiet forest. The moon was high, and snow fell in flurries of white, making visibility difficult.
Something snapped behind her, disturbing the silence. Her head whipped back and fear icier than the snow froze her pounding heart.
Nothing. Only a vast, empty path.
Was he really going to just let her go? There'd been no locks, no guard watching over her, no blockade to her escape. Not even her room had been locked. If she were a prisoner, wouldn't there have been some attempt at keeping her from running out the front door?
Belle wanted to think through that more, but right now wasn't the time. She needed to focus on finding the path that led home, and avoid any unsavory creatures along the way.
It was no secret that these woods held a number of threats to humans and horses. There were wolves, bears, and wild bores, just to name a few. Coming upon any of them could lead to tragedy.
Philippe continued to run through the forest, his hooves pounding on the ground that accrued more snow by the second. A flock of birds took flight as he barrelled through a brush.
Belle pictured her quaint little cottage in her mind's eye: a warm fire, her chair pulled close, a cup of steaming tea on the table, her favorite book in her hands. It was where she should have been all along, and where she would be again. Soon. Very soon.
Abruptly, Philippe stopped, and Belle looked into the darkness, trying to figure out the cause. She heard a low growl before she saw them: one by one, a pack of vicious, hungry wolves emerged from the trees. Philippe reared up, and she gasped a scream as she gripped the reins tightly to remain seated. Her body lurched to the side as they turned and fled.
Her heart pounded painfully against her ribcage. Gathering her wits enough to spur Philippe into a full gallop, they took a staggered path through the trees, trying to shake their pursuers. But the wolves could not be outpaced. One chomped at Philippe's flank, and Belle pulled the reins, directing him to the left, forcing the wolf to follow and slam into a tree. More wolves gained on them. Another gasp drowned out the snarled growls of their pursuers.
The Beast's rage had frightened her, but it was nothing compared to how terror-stricken she was now. If she and Philippe didn't escape the pack soon, they'd be torn limb from limb. As scared as she'd been of the Beast, she hadn't truly feared for her life. Not like she did now.
As they charged beyond the trees, the ground gave way. She gasped as ice-cold water enveloped them. She hadn't realized it was a river. The thin ice had been covered in enough snow to mask its presence. Her teeth chattered and Philippe shivered beneath her legs, but as uncomfortable as it was, she was also a little thankful. This river was shallow enough for Philippe to cross but deep and swift enough that it carried a few wolves away from them.
They emerged and started galloping once again. The initial chill wore off as adrenaline and fear coursed through her body, keeping her mind focused on escape.
She glanced behind and saw nothing. Perhaps the river was enough to deter the feral creatures from pursuing them further. But she wasn't taking any chances. She urged Philippe on through the darkness. Moments later, they came to a small clearing, and what little hope she had was dashed. Somehow, a few wolves managed to get ahead and cut off their route.
Philippe reared up again, and this time, Belle wasn't ready for it. The reins slipped through her hands, and she landed hard on the ground with a thud. Her hip throbbed, and her hair came loose, blowing across her face, obstructing her view for a moment. For reasons she couldn't understand, the animals went after the horse first, giving her the chance to scramble to her feet. Philippe should have run away, but upon a glance, she saw him tangled in a branch, unable to break free. She had to protect them both all by herself! Thinking quickly, she found a large branch on the ground and grabbed it. She ran to Philippe and smacked a wolf away as it tried to snap at his neck.
Belle swatted at the bloodthirsty wolves, but more and more appeared, until a dozen surrounded them. Still, she and Philippe tried to fend them off, refusing to give up. She swung the branch and one grabbed hold of it, snapping it shorter with its razor-sharp teeth. Philippe bucked and neighed, doing his best to help.
A scream ripped from her throat as she was pulled to the ground. Her cloak choked her as a wolf yanked the material harder.
This was it. Her last moments on earth. They'd fought as hard as they could, but there were too many of them. She screamed again, covering her face as one lunged at her.
Time stood still.
Any second, blade-like teeth would sink into her and it would all be over.
Fear, sadness, and regret filled the void. Never again would she hold a book in her hands, feel her father's warm embrace, or have the simple pleasure of walking through that contrary little village. Every adventure she'd dreamt up in her mind scattered into the cold, icy breeze. The world would remain a mystery to her. Forever.
She braced for the pain. But it never came.
A low, deep growl echoed off the trees. Belle looked up to see the Beast lifting a wolf high in the air with his massive paws. He roared in its face, a blood-curdling sound that left her shuttering in place. Then he tossed the creature to the side and came down on all fours, shielding her protectively and baring his teeth to the pack before them.
He sprang forward, taking them all on at once. Belle ran to Philippe as the Beast became the sole focus of the pack. His roars reverberated in her ears. She watched him as wolf after wolf attacked in an endless stream. But they were no match. With impressive power and agility, he fended them all off: throwing, and slashing, and beating them back. Two or three at a time attacked him, ripping at his already worn clothing, biting into his pelt. It was incredible, yet horrifying, to watch.
Blow after blow, he battled them all, not allowing a single one to touch her. If any dared try, he adjusted his position, using himself as a blockade. It was as if his only goal was to keep her safe. She didn't know if she was more shocked that he'd come after her, or that he was now defending her. All she knew was that if he hadn't come, she'd be dead right now.
Finally, he threw a large wolf into a tree. The others stopped in their tracks, as what Belle could only assume was their alpha slumped into the snow before running off. All followed suit, with small yelps and yips of pain as they retreated.
Silence filled the glade. Belle watched with wide eyes as clouds of air puffed from the Beast's mouth. His arms hung at his sides, and she realized one was oozing blood. He looked exhausted, and for a brief moment, his weary and strangely human eyes locked with hers.
A pang of… something… hit her in the chest. It might have been worry, maybe pity, or something closer to gratitude. Whichever, it was fleeting, and a second later, he collapsed.
Belle turned and gripped Philippe's saddle, thankful to be alive and ready to put this all behind her. Nothing could stop her from mounting her horse and going straight home. This was her one and only chance to finish her escape. It would be so easy. The Beast was too tired and injured from the fight to chase after her immediately. By the time he gathered his strength—if there was any left to gather—she'd be tucked away in her cozy cottage, free, safe, home. In no time, she could resume her life and pretend none of this ever happened. Just as she planned on doing from the start.
It was such a tempting thought.
But guilt and gratitude were powerful things. Could she live with herself knowing he'd saved her life and she'd left him to die? What kind of person would that make her? Even if he'd come after her just to bring her back, he didn't have to defend her. Was the risk worth it to him just to have her fulfill the promise to stay with him forever?
Belle turned around and glanced at the Beast. He lay face down in the snow, unmoving except for the subtle rising and falling of his back. He wasn't dead. Her chest loosened a little, knowing this. But she couldn't leave him here for the wolves to come back and finish the job.
Making her decision, Belle ran to him, but caution slowed her approach. He was still a ferocious beast, one who'd just showcased his strength and brutal ability. Her eyes looked him over before being drawn to a pool of blood, bright red in the gray snow. Just because he was breathing didn't mean he'd survive. She had to get him back to the castle where she could help him. There was very little she could do out here, and the storm was gaining speed. Carefully, she removed her cloak and draped it over him. The cold bit into her wet dress, but she ignored it and called Philippe over.
Her fingers ran through the Beast's fur as she tried to rouse him. "Please, you have to get up," she pleaded. "I can't do this alone."
He stirred, groaning and grumbling. Not exactly the response she was hoping for, but at least he was awake. She took one arm and draped it over her shoulder. "Come on. You can do this. Let's get back to the castle and warm you." A shiver ran through her. In her mind, she added, and warm me, too.
A small growl accompanied his attempts to stand. Blue eyes tried to force open, but he couldn't keep them focused. Belle used all the strength she had to help support him, and together, they got him draped over Philippe. The horse groaned under the weight but managed to carry his burden back the way they'd come. She walked in front and retraced their tracks back to the castle.
By the time they returned, the Beast stirred and showed signs of regaining consciousness. Belle tentatively led him inside and left Philippe just outside the main doors.
The servants rushed towards them with gobsmacked expressions, speaking over one another, asking what happened, worried for their master. This struck Belle as odd. How could they all be loyal to someone who was so overbearing and controlling? But in her greatest hour of need, he'd come and defended her. He'd put his life on the line to save hers. Someone who would do that couldn't possibly be all bad. She remembered what the wardrobe said and wondered if she was right. Maybe the Beast wasn't so bad once you got to know him.
No. She dismissed the thought with a small shake. She still wanted nothing to do with him. He may have saved her life, and for that she was grateful, but she'd never be friends with him. How could she—after everything he'd taken from her?
Carefully, she got him into the front parlor. Lumière set the fire, and Mrs. Potts called for a water basin and some cloths while Cogsworth fretted over how much blood the Master was losing.
"Will he be alright?" Chip asked, fear and worry in his little voice.
Belle warmed herself by the fire while the Beast got settled into his chair. "Of course he will," she reassured the teacup. Now that their master was awake and sitting upright, her concern started to wane. There were moments on the way back she wasn't so certain he'd survive. She hadn't known the extent of his injuries as she'd trudged through the snow, but now that they were back and she could see clearly, he'd fared better than she thought.
He had a few shallow bites on his back and one on his leg. The worst was a set of deep slashes on his right forearm. Those needed to be cleaned and dressed properly or else risk the wound festering.
"It's all ready, dear," Mrs. Potts announced.
Belle rose from her spot by the fire, her dress nearly dry. A benefit of wearing fewer layers of petticoats was her clothing dried a lot quicker when wet, even if it did make journeys in the snow much colder.
Belle lifted the teapot and poured the hot water into the basin. She then dipped the cloth into the water and approached the Beast.
"Here now," she said as she came close. He seemed content to ignore her as he sat there licking the wound—something that would undoubtedly make the injury even worse. She took a fortifying breath, deciding she would help him whether he wanted her to or not. "Don't do that," she reprimanded.
The Beast snarled at her and shielded his arm. Behind her, she heard the clattering of the servants retreating, but she wasn't deterred. When she looked at him in this moment, it called to mind a disobedient child. She moved in tandem with him, following his arm as he tried to keep it from her.
"Just hold still…" she instructed.
He didn't listen. When she made contact, the hot cloth pressed hard into the open wound, and he roared in indignation, jerking his arm away.
"That hurts!" he snapped, a deep growl accompanying his harsh words.
Belle's hair blew back at the force of his breath, and she closed her eyes for a brief second. If only she could close her nose as his rank, hot breath assaulted her face. Aggravated by his tone, she glared right back at him, stiffening her spine. "If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much!"
Smugly, he gestured to his arm and said with a sneer, "If you hadn't have run away, this wouldn't have happened."
With an equal dose of conviction, Belle threw back, "If you hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't've run away!"
Beast opened his mouth to respond, then paused. Belle folded her arms across her chest. How dare he try to make her think this was her fault! The only reason she'd been out there was because of him!
"Well, you shouldn't have been in the West Wing!" he retorted with the weight of authority bolstering his posture.
She wasn't going to put up with his bossing her around, or his attempts to lord over her. Not missing a beat, Belle squared her shoulders and snapped back, "Well, you should learn to control your temper!"
Their eyes met as they came face-to-face. For a long moment, she stared him down, refusing to give up an inch of control. She wasn't one of his servants who cowered at his temper and rushed to fulfill his every desire. She was her own person, not ruled by anyone. Least of all him.
The Beast moved first, resting his cheek on his fist. But there was something to be said for him breaking their silent war.
Belle kept a small smirk at bay. She tucked her loose hair behind her ear and softened a little, taking his arm in her hand. "Now hold still. This might sting a little."
His face dropped, and she saw a flash of fear in his eyes. When she was a child, she'd come home with some scrapes and often worried about the clean-up hurting. Keeping that in mind, she pressed the cloth onto his wound as gently as she could.
He turned away and groaned, clenching his teeth as she moved the cloth, dabbing the cuts.
Seeing someone else in pain always made Belle feel like the hurt was her own. And it wasn't any different with him. She wished she possessed a magical healing balm that would take away his pain and the weeks of recovery ahead.
Hoping to distract him from the pain, and knowing his suffering was a result of helping her, she said, "By the way… thank you, for saving my life."
The Beast relaxed and slowly turned back to her, his shining eyes meeting her own. He looked a little stunned, although she wasn't sure if that was the right way to describe it. Maybe he viewed her gratitude as weakness, or maybe he just wasn't used to someone other than his servants showing him any kindness. But she meant it. She was grateful to him for rescuing her from the wolves. He didn't have to, and the fact that he'd been hurt in the process made her see him in a slightly different light.
His face leveled with hers, and he sincerely said, "You're welcome."
She nearly smiled, but held it back as she continued to clean the dried blood from his fur and make sure any dirt or debris was gone from his wound. Then, she carefully wrapped it in clean cloths and tied the ends in a little knot.
"Done," she said as she stood from her place on the floor.
Silently, he nodded at her, got out of his chair, and walked out.
Belle didn't know what to make of it. She certainly didn't know him well enough to interpret his actions, but things felt less strained between them. She watched him walk out of the room on his hind legs and disappear up the stairs. There was no shortage of curiosity swirling in her mind, burning with questions about who he was and how the castle came to be enchanted. Her promise came to mind, and she was determined to see it through now. He wouldn't hurt her, despite how angry he might get, and if the need arose, he'd go as far as to risk his own safety to protect her. No one had ever physically protected her like that—other than her father—and it left her feeling obligated to him. She needed to repay him for his act of heroism.
Maybe living here wouldn't be so bad after all.
Flip Side
Earlier that night, just after Belle fled the West Wing
Beast's shoulders slumped, and he gripped his forehead. He was a hundred times the fool. The look of terror on the girl's face as she fled from his room was permanently imprinted on the back of his eyelids, taunting him as hopelessness flooded back in. She'd only been here a handful of hours, and he'd already ruined everything. Blast his confounded temper! Maybe the evil witch was right in cursing him. He was a monster, through and through.
Guilt stabbed him as he sat on his haunches, staring at the glowing rose. Another petal floated down to the tabletop, and his chest caved. He'd been kidding himself. For a brief moment, he actually believed she'd been sent to set him free from this hell: thought the Enchantress had bestowed pity on him and delivered a girl so beautiful and kind that she willingly gave up her freedom to save her father.
He still couldn't believe she'd done that. Who traded their life for that of a parent? And an old, sickly one at that. But her act of love had his mind swirling with all kinds of impossible thoughts. A girl compassionate and faithful enough that she'd trade places with her ailing father and promise to live with a monster the rest of her days was a girl who might just see past his beastly exterior and uncover the man within. He hadn't needed his servants to tell him she might be the one to break the spell. He'd thought of it the moment he first laid eyes on her—though he hadn't expected her to defy him when he'd demanded her presence at dinner.
For as long as he could remember, no one had ever told him "no." That was just how it was. A small voice poked at him. She possessed strength beyond that which her slender form could muster. A strength he found himself intrigued by. A strength that was born of a love so pure he felt humbled by it.
A tear left his eye, and he wiped it away. It had been so long since he'd seen love that he'd forgotten what it looked like. The kind of concern and genuine care the girl had shown her father was so striking, so beautiful, it had taken his breath away. It also awakened something within him, a deep longing to have that in his life.
If he couldn't find a way to love someone like her, he was doomed.
The problem was, he'd always seen love as a burden. First, it brought nothing but pain. Then it became a goal. A means to an end, to restore him to the form he was meant to have. He'd never thought of it as something that he was missing.
His servants always acted as though they cared for him, but he knew it was out of obligation, not a genuine affection for him. They were trapped here just as much as he was. Treating him poorly wouldn't benefit them in any way. And as the Master of the house, the dynamic was very different than that of a potential romantic relationship. At least, that's what he assumed. He was very young when his mother passed, and after, his father shut them up in this castle, refusing to take callers, so he didn't have any clear examples of a committed pair to reference. All he had was a fleeting sense of what it had felt like to be loved by his parents. But it was so small a memory that he often believed he'd merely dreamt it into existence, not that it had ever been true.
Beast stared out the open balcony. Snow swirled and blew, the cold air a reminder that his time was running out. His twenty-first birthday would come with the spring, and his best chance of lifting the curse was now racing away. Nothing but hoof tracks left in her wake.
Why did he have to react so harshly?
Because she'd invaded the one place in the castle, no one was allowed to venture. The one place he specifically told her not to go. His embarrassment was even stronger than his fury at her disobedience. This was where he unleashed the animalistic urges that overcame him. The furniture was scattered in piles of tinder, destroyed in fits of rage that buried what remained of his humanity a little more each time. Paintings and portraits were slashed with his claw marks, including one of him made not many months before the curse. Broken mirror shards lay on the floor, sparing him from having to see his monstrous form. It was no place for a delicate, beautiful young woman.
Why wouldn't he be upset by the violation of his privacy? Didn't he have the right to be angry and defensive to find an intruder in his personal chambers? Was he not justified in his rage?
Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. But he knew without a doubt that screaming at her and coming at her as if he were about to rip her to pieces was not the right way to handle it. In the moment, he'd just seen red and let his emotions cloud his better judgment. He'd held such a small hold on his control, he didn't blame her for running.
But she was about to touch the rose! He had no idea what would happen if she did such a thing, but it couldn't have been good. What if more petals fell? His time to fix his egregious error would be hastened, and as it was, he'd have been cutting it close.
No matter how he tried to justify his actions, none of it brought her back. And he wouldn't chase after her. Despite her promise, despite making her his prisoner, he wouldn't actually force her to stay. It's why he'd agreed to Lumière's suggestion of giving her a real room. He wanted her to be comfortable. A drafty, crumbling tower was no place for a beauty like her.
Would he have kept her father there if she hadn't come?
Probably not. As much as he didn't want word to get out about the beast in a castle, he also wouldn't have wanted the burden of looking after a prisoner that clearly wouldn't have broken his curse. What would the point have been? It wasn't as if he longed for company for the sake of conversation. Especially from an old man like the girl's father.
Beast took one last look out at the ground. His body felt heavy, and he sighed at the sight of her footprints disappearing as more snow fell.
"Oowooooooooooo!" echoed, perking Beast's ears.
He ran to the edge of the balcony and sniffed the air. He knew that sound. But which direction was it coming from?
Based on what little was left of her tracks, the girl had gone southwest. He tuned his ears, listening for another howl so he could determine where the pack might be.
From his experience hunting in his forest, they were a ravenous group of a dozen or so, with a brutal alpha who would stop at nothing to catch his prey. He'd lost out on a deer or two to him and made a point to avoid them whenever possible.
The thought of Belle out there with them sent a shiver of fear down his spine. She wouldn't stand a chance, horse or no horse. They'd tear her to ribbons in seconds.
Beast leapt over the railing, grabbing hold of a spire, leaning out, still listening, still waiting.
"Oowooooooooooo!"
"Ahhhhhhh!"
No!
In seconds, he raced down the castle, jumping from roof to roof, getting lower and lower until he cleared two stories onto the thick, snow-covered stone terrace. He wasted no time bolting through the swinging gate and into the forest.
Growls and screams bounced off the trees as he pushed his legs to move faster. He couldn't let her die like this. It would be his fault. If the guilt of chasing her off put him in a hopeless depression, being the catalyst of her death would leave him broken beyond repair. He had to save her.
Running faster than he'd ever tried to before, Beast slid and scraped through the forest. He slid across the slick surface, slamming into a tree now and then, but the blows barely registered. He was closing the gap. Her terrified screams and the wolves' hungry growls grew louder, closer. After what felt like hours, he found her.
She was lying on the ground, and her long dark hair whipped around her heart-shaped face. The alpha leapt at her, and her scream ripped through him, spurring him into action.
Beast sprang out from the trees and caught the dominant wolf in midair by the throat. He released a roar of warning, then tossed the male aside like a worthless lump of fluff. Facing the rest of the pack, he crouched over Belle, ready to battle anything that threatened her.
Time seemed to slow and speed up at the same time. At least two wolves attacked him at a time, and he roared and snarled as they clashed in battle. Beast's instincts and focus were honed in on defeating the enemy, protecting Belle, and nothing else. He barely felt the scratches and bites the vicious animals inflicted. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and he unleashed his full beastly might against them, throwing them off one by one until all were too wounded or too afraid to come at him again.
He heard the pack scamper away, but his gaze honed in on Belle, reassuring himself that she was alright. He'd accomplished his goal. He'd kept her safe.
Beast took a few steps toward her, but exhaustion caught up to him. His eyes blurred, and he felt a trickle of blood run down his arm. Evidently, those wolves had done more damage to him than he'd thought. Taking another step, he faltered and the world went black.
When his eyes parted again, he was in the castle courtyard, hanging over this side of the girl's horse. His body ached and a sharp pain radiated from his right arm. It felt like he'd been in a fight and lost. But when he lifted his head, he saw Belle guiding the horse, and the same relief he'd felt before came rushing back in. She was safe. And she'd brought him home?
He was confused, but he wasn't about to question her actions. When they got to the doors, she stopped and turned.
Surprise lifted the pitch of her voice. "You're awake?"
Beast groaned, but slipped off the side of the horse and planted his feet on the cold floor. Still holding the saddle for stability, he replied, "I am."
She came to his side and took the uninjured arm, slinging it over her shoulder. "Let's get you inside."
Too shocked to speak, he leaned on her as little as possible, but allowed her to lead him in. The servants clattered and spoke over one another as they entered.
"What happened?"
"Master, are you alright?"
"My dears! Come, come, warm yourselves by the fire."
"Thank you," Belle said.
Beast felt a shiver run through her, and he glanced down at her with concern. But he didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say to her.
Once they were settled in the front parlor, a roaring fire warming them both, Beast seated in his chair while Belle took a spot on the floor, he finally processed what happened. He was hurt. She was fine. Physical pain wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to, and as his exhaustion deepened his annoyance increased.
Everyone bustled about, but Beast kept his gaze on his wound. Instinct took over, and he licked at the stinging gashes, giving him slight relief. If he could see himself, he'd have been disgusted with how animalistic he appeared. His cloak was ripped and his tattered pants were even less salvageable than they'd been before. Any pride he'd felt at saving her melted as his body thawed, and what felt like hundreds of small cuts screamed for attention, most of which he couldn't even reach, much less see.
A basin sat near him and the girl poured steaming hot water from Mrs. Potts' spout into it. He didn't know what she planned on doing with that hot rag, but it wasn't coming anywhere near him.
He licked the wound again, and she had the gall to scold him for it!
He wasn't some petulant child. He could take care of himself. He didn't need her looking at him with concern. He didn't want it. She should just go back to her room if she'd decided to stay. Or—the door was unbarred. She could leave, and he'd be glad of it. She'd been enough trouble already.
But he recognized the determination in her eyes. She was hellbent on healing him. That didn't mean he had to allow it. This was still his castle, his rules applied! She wasn't touching him with that torture device. His wound hurt enough!
No matter how deftly he tried, she pursued with the cloth, and eventually, he made the wrong move and that scalding hot towel pressed into the gashes with more force than he thought she could possess.
Nothing could have stopped the roar of pain and condemnation that flew past his lips. She'd hurt him on purpose! To make a point or something. A point that he had no intention of heeding.
This was stupid!
This whole charade made him want to bark a laugh of absurdity. She was on her knees trying to heal wounds he wouldn't even have if she hadn't run off like a ninny into a forest inhabited by vicious wolves.
This was all her fault!
She'd made him come after her and fight with creatures he had no quarrel with. Ones he'd taken pains to avoid over the years for fear of this very thing. One night with this female in his life and he'd already sustained more injuries than he had in the whole of his life.
This was a disaster!
Beast defended himself, laying the blame right where it belonged. But each point he made, her counterpoint hit harder. He had frightened her off. And he'd felt guilt over it: a feeling he had always been taught was beneath him but had forced him into action. And now he had no defense. She called him out on his biggest weakness and he had no recourse, no counterpoint to make. He did have an awful temper. One he often blamed on his form. What else was a beast supposed to act like? He certainly couldn't parade around in court finery with a pinky lifted into the air, tromping in heels! He was a beast! So he acted like one.
That annoying little voice spoke up again. You were a beast well before you looked like one. It taunted, and he slumped in his seat.
If the girl wanted to clean his wound, he supposed it was the least he could allow her to do. It wasn't as if his servants could properly tend to it anymore. Another thing to add to his list of faults.
Groaning at the pain, Beast grit his teeth and bore the discomfort as she very gently used the warm cloth against his arm. It hurt far more than when it was inflected. He'd been too caught up in the fight to take notice of the injuries stacking up. Now, there wasn't much else to focus on.
Then the girl spoke again. Her eyes stayed on his arm, but her voice was soft and sweet. "By the way… thank you, for saving my life."
Did she just…?
It took him a moment to process her words, and the weight of gratitude accompanying them. He was genuinely surprised to hear it. But also, something else… Something warm and heavy swirled in his chest as his eyes met hers.
Unsure of what else to say, he simply accepted her thanks. They then sat in silence while she finished her task. She took such care to be gentle, and after the first few strokes, it no longer hurt.
His fascination with her deepened. She'd brought him back when she could have left him for dead. She remained by his side to tend to his wounds when she could have gone to her room and shut him out. She was grateful to him and had no qualms about expressing that when she could have kept it to herself, depriving him of the pride he now felt at having saved her.
Too many emotions beat in his chest, clamoring for his attention. And he wasn't keen on any of them.
As soon as she finished tying off his bandage, he stood and retreated to his room. He couldn't be around her any longer. He didn't deserve her kindness or her care. The wretched guilt was gaining ground on his pride, and he needed to be alone to process it all.
As far as he could tell, she'd decided to stay, to fulfill her promise. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or terrified of the prospect. She already had him twisted in knots, what would a few weeks—or months—of being around her do to him?
That was the point. Wasn't it? The Enchantress's goal. To force him to face feelings and emotions he'd buried alongside his parents. To crack him open and thaw the ice dam he'd built around his heart. A small fissure seemed to have started when those rich, hazel eyes gazed into him and spoke the simplest but most profound of words, "Thank you…"
Hope trickled in through that fissure, and as he lay in his nest of split pillows and torn blankets, he contemplated the sentiment behind it all. He'd done the right thing. For possibly the first time in his life, he'd been given the choice to do what was best for him—or what was best for someone else. And he'd chosen to give instead of take.
And it felt… good.
I don't have any more planned after this. But if there's a scene you'd like to see with this level of added depth, please leave me a review or DM! I will never stop writing these two, and love diving deeper into scene we all know and love. Thanks for reading! Please leave me a review. =D
