Hi everyone! In case of confusion, I just want to point out that this story isn't necessarily gonna be in chronological order. Thats why we've suddenly jumped forward a lot and after the enchantment. There will be flashbacks later on and the timeline is going to jump around a bit but i'm gonna make it as unconfusing as possible, I promise! Big thanks to everyone who reviewed and to Trudi for being my beta. On with the story...It is 16 years later (including ten years for the enchantment)
Chapter One: Birth of a Prophecy. 1751.
Although it was sunset and almost time for dinner, the castle was strangely silent; no feet scurried about as was usual for the time of day. The kitchen was empty, the dining table unlaid. The sunken sun's final rays shone through the ballroom and library windows, but illuminated no faces nor caused any living shadow. In fact, the entire ground floor of the castle was deserted as evening drew on.
The West Wing, however, was a-buzz with activity. All the servants had been given a few hours off, for their master and mistress were in no state to give orders.
Lumiere was taking full advantage of the time and whispering sweet nothings in the ear of his amour while Cogsworth, positive he could see dust resting on every unswept surface, trailed his finger along the top of an armoire and looked at its tip in disgust.
"Lumiere…" he began, only to be interrupted by a high-pitched giggle from Babette. A giggle that never failed to cut right through Cogworth's skin like a knife.
He groaned, not wanting to think about what nonsense they were up to now. Ever since the breaking of the enchantment just over a year ago, they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. It was insufferable to watch and worse to have to listen to constantly whenever he made his early morning inspections, and today he did not want his nerves stretched anymore than they already were.
"Lumiere!" he shouted, so loudly that the rest of the servants gathered in the room looked up from their conversations.
"Oui, ma poupette…mon ami!"
Babette giggled again at her lover's mistake. Cogsworth was not amused.
"Look at this! Just look at this!" he said as he thrust his finger in Lumiere's general direction. "The castle is getting filthier and filthier every second that we are standing up here. I mean, really, they can't expect us to shirk our duties…"
"Calm yourself, mon ami. It cannot be for much longer."
"But...but…it's been hours and the tapestries…the suits of armour in the eastern corridor…couldn't we just…"
"Cogsworth…"
"…quickly go and check…"
"…we are all restless, but we should respect the master's wishes, don't you agree? Learn to distract yourself, mon ami."
Lumiere turned back to his prize.
"Yes, well…not all of us have such…convenient distractions," muttered Cogsworth as he checked the hour on his pocket-watch for the seventh time that afternoon. "Oh, when is it going to be over?"
As if to answer his question, a baby's shriek suddenly resonated from inside the main chamber. It was music to not only Cogsworth's ears.
"Oh, thank goodness!" he exclaimed over the rising noise of the servants' excitement. "Alright everybody, settle down, settle down, we don't want to get overexcited."
Unsurprisingly, the noise did not abate, and now the maids that had been sitting on the floor were on their feet and whispering to each other. The gardener, who had been in the middle of a discussion with Francois, the head chef, about the best way to cook turnips, for some reason now found it necessary to go around and shake hands with every other male in the room and was that…was that money changing hands? Cogsworth felt anger start to grind away with the anxiety already in his head and his hand tightened around his beloved pocket-watch.
A sudden slap on his shoulder caused the watch to fall through his fingers and hit the wooden floor with a dull tinkling noise that turned his already stretched smile into a full-on grimace.
"Lumiere!" he seethed, certain he could feel a cloud of smoke billow from each of his ears.
Choosing to ignore the strange purple colour of his colleague's face, Lumiere met his stare with a dazzling smile.
"Ah! It seems the moment we have been waiting for has finally arrived."
The baby's screams continued to pierce both of their ears despite the rather large barrier of two solid oak doors separating them from it.
"My, my, la petite princesse has quite a pair of lungs on her, does she not?"
Cogsworth sighed in a very exaggerated manner.
"And how can you be sure it's a girl, Lumiere?"
"Call it instinct,"said his companion with a wink and a well-placed nudge.
Suddenly, the doors were flung wide open to reveal a breathless and excited Prince Vincent. Cogsworth leapt forward before Lumiere had a chance to steal the limelight.
"What is the news, sire?"
Vincent took a deep breath, his sky-blue eyes shining with excitement, his hair rapidly coming loose from his ponytail.
"It's a girl!" he exclaimed.
The entire household erupted with joy. Cogsworth turned around to see Lumiere grinning smugly. He scowled and stuck his nose in the air as if he smelled something nasty.
"Congratulations, sire!" said Lumiere warmly. "And Princess Belle?"
Vincent's grin stretched so wide it threatened to split his face in two and, overcome with joy, he swept the two servants he regarded as his closest friends into a cheery embrace.
"She is well. Tired, but well. She is resting. You there….."
He jumped from the two servants to another with a boyish enthusiasm that seemed to have become a part of his character only after the long winter of his youth. He greeted a startled stable lad. "Issue a proclamation! Tell the kingdom the good news."
The lad nodded, deciding not to take that moment to remind the prince that his duties solely involved taking care of the horses and that he would not know the first place to start when issuing a proclamation. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
"Right away, sire!", and he fought his way through the crowd of servants to someone who could help him. Cogsworth was not pleased. He was quite certain that that was his duty. However, it was a day of celebration and, as tempting as it would be to kick up a fuss, he switched his attention to more pressing matters. The prince was now standing completely still, trying to deal with the sea of servants that had surrounded him and were now smothering him with their best wishes. Cogsworth stepped forward and the sea seemed to part for him, either through respect or from the glare he gave each of them in turn.
"Your majesty, perhaps I might suggest a small, quiet drink to toast the birth of the princess. I do believe I have some brandy downstairs…good cognac, you know…none of this imported rubbish, if you would care for some? I was, after all, saving it for a special occasion such as this."
He took his master's arm and gently guided him to the door with Lumiere following close behind. The 'small, quiet drink' that Cogsworth had suggested was to turn into a three-day feast, complete with raucous laughter and drunken merriment that he would regret, but of course he was unaware at the time that such a civilised suggestion would become a mess he would be cleaning up for days, and so it was with mutual delight that the three men left the room. The rest of the servants talked among themselves for a moment before gradually dispersing to various rooms throughout the castle. Soon, only Babette remained, clutching the hand of an anxious six-year old boy as he waited for his mama. She shared a smile with Isabella, another chambermaid, as she left the room and reminded herself to meet her for a gossip later to amuse while her beau was doing his manly obligations. As the doors closed, a small hand tugged at her skirts.
"Babette, how much longer?"
"Soon!" she laughed. "You must be patient, petite. Your mother is taking part in something very special. These things take time."
Chip scowled. "It's just a baby."
"Were you not a baby once?" grinned Babette. "Did you not demand attention constantly?"
"No!" murmured Chip, as he watched the shadows that moved underneath the door in front of them with earnest.
At last, the handle turned and a beaming Mrs. Potts emerged, her eyes glassy with exhaustion at witnessing once again the miracle of birth.
"MAMA!" bellowed Chip, as he tugged free of Babette's hand and ran towards her.
"Hush now, Chip! She's sleeping. My goodness, you're getting heavy," she said as she picked him up. "Were you good for Babette? Did you behave yourself?"
Babette laughed to herself. "He was a perfect gentleman, Mrs. Potts, apart from tugging my dress so hard that the hem almost came away. A bientot."
She smiled and exited the room to find Isabella.
"Would you like to see her, Chip?"
He raised an eyebrow in response. Evelyn chuckled. "What a little character you're becoming! Come now, you get to be one of the first to see our new little princess. Wouldn't you like that?"
"I guess," said Chip nonchalantly, as his mother put him down and took his hand. Together, they entered the birthing chamber, which had been decorated appropriately in lush pinks and lavenders. In the centre of the room and underneath the windows that overlooked the palace gardens, was a large canopied bed where the exhausted figure of Belle lay sleeping, her chest rising and falling gently as she drew breath.
As Chip approached the bed and the cradle beside it, he gradually became aware of a faint line around the sleeping figure in the bed. As he stared further, it started to glow, first pale yellow, then golden as if the sun lay directly underneath Belle as she slept. It enveloped her and rose and fell steadily with her breathing. He blinked and it was gone. Confusion marred his smooth brow.
"Mama, Belle is glowing!" he whispered, staring at her and wanting it to happen again. Mrs. Potts smiled at her son's surprising perception.
"Wonderful, isn't it? The healthy exhaustion of a new mother. The delicate light of a new life. She looks so peaceful." She sighed wistfully.
"No, Mama….," began Chip, but he was silenced by his mother.
"Hush now, you'll wake the baby."
She guided him towards the cradle by the side of the bed. It was beautiful, handmade from rosewood and decorated with delicately carved panels depicting entwining roses-a present from a proud grandfather-to-be. The top of it came right up to Chip's forehead and he frowned when his view was obscured by a very solid bar of wood.
"Mama…," he began, before he felt himself lifted up once more. He looked down at what first appeared to be a pile of sheets and blankets. After a few seconds, it stirred and he found himself gazing into the face of the new princess. She was tiny, like a porcelain doll, her skin pale as china, her hands and feet delicate like opaque glass.
"What's her name, Mama?"
"Raisse. Isn't it beautiful?" sighed Mrs. Potts.
Chip was about to reply with a shrug and an unbothered "I guess so," when the image of the baby suddenly fled from his sight and was replaced with a vision. He saw a young lady, blue-eyed and fair-haired, running through a garden. She was laughing. He heard a voice, his own, yet older, deeper shouting her name. He saw a shadow, darker than night itself. He heard an earth-shattering scream, and then another. He saw a pair of eyes. Evil eyes. Eyes that burned with malice, and they looked straight into his own.
Chip shrieked and buried his face in his mother's shoulder, desperately trying to replace the sudden alarming attack on his senses with the comforting smell of her natural scent. Tears began to fall from his eyes and his small hands gripped the cloth of her blouse.
"Chip? Chip! My goodness…what on earth…what's the matter?" stammered Mrs. Potts, startled by his unusual behaviour, but all she heard back were his sobs.
"Chip…" she began again, but was interrupted by a loud wailing coming from the cradle beside her.
"Oh! Now, look what you've done!" she cried, flustered and panicking. Chip felt himself suddenly plonked rather unceremoniously on the floor, still sobbing with distress. Mrs. Potts rushed to the cradle and snatched up the princess, now flailing and crying like a mad thing. She held her to her chest and started to rock her back and forth, all the while pleading for the child to stop crying, lest she awake her mother and alarm the servants. This was to no avail, as the cries just got louder and louder.
Stunned, Chip backed slowly towards the door, his own tears drying rapidly on his cheeks, screams echoing in his ears and visions haunting his mind. With a gasp of breath, he turned and ran through the door, the floorboards thumping beneath his feet with every step.
"Chip! Chip!" hollered a distraught Mrs. Potts after him, but he could not hear her. He would not hear her. All he could do was run.