Yes I know, not much to show for a fortnight of nothing, but please bear with me, its coming slowly but surely and the ideas are there! Hope you like it everyone! My thanks to all my reviewers and my fantastic beta, Trudi.

Chapter Fifteen: A Good Start

Chip set off the next morning, having not slept a minute the previous night. He'd retired before the moon was high in the sky, feeling drained and empty of every sense and emotion, and not wishing to encounter any other person after the reunion of sorts he'd endured with his mother. Practicality and the intention of waking up and beginning his journey once the first glimmer of sun appeared on the horizon also aided his decision to go to bed early, and it was in apprehensive spirits that Chip slid under the blankets and blew the candle flame out with one weary breath.

He knew from experience, however, that the presence of fatigue did not necessarily lead to slumber, and prepared himself for the usual few hours of sleep snatched here and there throughout the night. After lying completely still for two and a half hours staring at the patterns on the ceiling, he realised with dismay that sleep would be impossible. There were too many thoughts in his mind to permit him to banish them. Whether he closed his eyes or opened them, they were there, and they stayed there, swirling round and round and jostling for position until the clock chimed five in the hallway.

And so it was with half-closed eyes and an aching head that Chip saddled up Ambrosius and rode through the castle gates the next morning. He let the tiredness numb him for a while, pointing the horse straight towards the village because it seemed as good a place to start as any. He hardly felt the irregular pattern of the dirt track turn into the smooth, even cobblestones of civilisation, and neither apparently did Ambrosius, for he plodded on slowly, barely reacting except to occasionally swish his tail at the flies that hovered in the air above it.

The houses and shops all became one big blur under Chip's gaze as he focused straight ahead at all times, choosing to watch the path of the unknown open before him rather than the familiar sights of the village. He had almost left the world he knew behind when he heard himself softly tell Ambrosius to halt. It took him a moment to realise why. His head was filled with the wonderful smell that had lazily drifted into his nostrils as he's passed the tavern windows. He suddenly recalled that he had skipped breakfast that morning in an attempt to get moving. The realisation triggered a gurgling in his stomach so loud that he half-expected Ambrosius to turn his head and look at him quizzically.

Food…

With a weary smile, Chip dismounted and led the horse around to the stables at the back of the inn, where a begrudging stable-boy, also seemingly the victim of a sleepless night, promised to find fresh water for him in return for a gold coin.

The room was a-buzz with the chatter of travellers, despite the earliness of the hour, as Chip went inside. From what he could see, the majority were merchants, moving from town to town buying and selling wares from the backs of brightly-painted wagons. They were mostly talking amongst themselves in groups of varying sizes, but a few sat at tables alone. Solitary diners like himself, thought he doubted that the journeys that had caused them to stop in the tavern that morning were anything like his. He was stared at as he walked towards the bar, thought no more than any other stranger. Chip rarely frequented taverns, having had all his dietetic needs met at the castle for years, and could not remember ever having been in this particular one, though it was the nearest to his home.

Home…

"Good day!" bellowed the overly-cheery landlord as he saw a new customer approach his counter. He peered at Chip with narrow, dark eyes. "I don't recall your face in here before. Just passing through, are you?"

Chip nodded, and then yawned, much to his embarrassment. The barman shook his head and tutted through thin lips.

"Rough night, eh? Aye, t'is always the way with young men such as yourself. Tell you what, why don't I get you a bowl of the wife's Potage Parmentier? Perk you right up."

"Thank-you," said Chip, and also ordered some honey-mead. He was sorely tempted to ask for something stronger but knew he'd be snoring well before he finished the glass if he did.

A shame he thought. I could really use some good alcohol right now.

He slumped into a seat and desperately fought the urge to drop his head on the table and leave it there. Instead, he occupied himself by slowly looking around the tavern, absorbing every line and colour of the building and its patrons.

In the corner nearest the door, and below an open window, sat a group of travel-worn men, five in total, four sitting listening as the fifth spoke loudly and animatedly about fishing on the west coast. The tables all around them were empty for some reason, although there was no shortage of customers requiring seats. The nearest patron to them sat nearest the bar—a nervous-looking gentleman not much older than he. He appeared to be waiting for somebody, as he kept glancing first over one shoulder, then the next, frantically gulping down the contents of his tankard between looks. At the bar, the landlord was deep in conversation with two older men, thought they were too far away for him to hear the topic of conversation.

Chip rubbed his eyes free of the latest urge to sleep and continued looking, finding some small relief in the everyday lives of the people in the tavern. Three men playing cards, a couple asking when their carriage was to be ready, another solitary man devouring a bowl of some sort of stew, a young woman standing by the other end of the bar, watching him as she polished tankards…He raised his eyebrows in surprise and she blushed and turned her face away, her long auburn hair obscuring her expression. Then, as he continued to watch her out of curiosity, she twisted a lock of her hair between her fingers before sweeping it behind her ear to expose her delicate creamy-white neck and throat. A slight turn of the head and she opened her eyes underneath long eyelashes, meeting his own coyly, a crimson hue sweeping over her cheeks, A shy smile played on her lips, which he found himself returning with his own. Then, the voice of the landlord interrupted the moment.

"Fauve! Service, please!"

The look of merriment in her eyes died suddenly and she swiftly moved behind the bar and through an open door. Chip watched her as she walked away, admiring the soft curves of her body evident beneath her apron and plain dress. It had been a while since he'd had female attention of that kind and it felt nice. It felt…normal. His face fell as he realised that his life would be far from normal from now on. He guessed it never really had been in the first place.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his food.

"Potage, monsieur?"

He looked up to see who the silken voice belonged to and followed the slender pale arm holding the dish up to the face and startling green eyes of the barmaid.

"Thank-you, 'damoiselle."

She carefully placed the potage in front of him, leaning across him to do so which mingled the herby smell of the food with her own natural scent in his nostrils.

"It looks delicious," he said, relishing how the emptiness in his stomach was filled with a glance.

"Madame Leroux is the best cook in the town, monsieur. Her dishes are almost as famous as Gaston."

Chip froze. The name sounded familiar.

"Gaston?"

She stared at him, her nose crinkled in puzzlement.

"You have not heard of Gaston?"

"I have heard of the name, 'damoiselle, but I can't place it. I…I don't come to town much."

The lady looked over both her shoulders, then suddenly slid into the seat next to him, causing him to swallow his mouthful too quickly and burn his tongue. She moved her face so close to his that he could see the excitement dancing in her eyes. She pointed to a corner of the tavern he hadn't noticed before, In it stood a single chair covered in animal pelts of various breeds beneath a wall crammed full of mounted heads.

"That chair was his chair. They say it is haunted by the spirits of the creatures he killed."

"He was a hunter?" said Chip, who had also noticed the portrait of a man above the fireplace. A man he was sure he'd seen before…

"He was the greatest hunter in the world, and he spent most of his time here…in this very tavern!"

"What happened to him?" he asked, suddenly pretty certain he already knew the answer.

"He fought the biggest beast of all, up at the castle, but it claimed his life as he killed it. He was so brave though; sacrificing himself to save the kingdom."

She sighed.

"He was so heroic."

Chip wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he was recalling an event he thought he'd forgotten from seventeen years ago.

Blue eyes in a porcelain face stared through the latticed window frame, peering through the trickles of rain to what lay beyond. The intense feeling of pride he'd felt moments ago as he'd rescued Belle and her father was disappearing as quickly as the water into the gutter below. Fear and sadness replaced it in his heart as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

The bad man who'd locked up Belle had hurt his master. His mother, Lumiere and Cogsworth had rushed to the balcony, leaving him with a slightly bedraggled-looking Babette. He could see her fretting at the gaping hole where several feathers had been cruelly ripped out of her. He begged her to let him go with the others. He wanted to help, though he didn't know how, but she shook her head firmly.

"Yourmaman said no, Chip."

Seeing the child's sadness, she swept over to him.

"Everything will be alright. That…brute, "she hissed, "cannot hurt anyone anymore."

The maid sniffed and turned away before Chip could ask why. Through the window, the Beast lay on the ground; his once ferocious head slumped to one side. Belle was kneeling by him, gently stroking his fur with a shaking hand.

Chip was a bright child. He knew the Beast was dying, and with him would die Chip's hopes of ever being a real boy again. He was too young to hate, but every bad thing he could feel filled him with pain as the Beast's head flopped to the floor one last time. Belle collapsed on top of his chest, weeping into his fur.

Then…lights! Fireworks! Smoke! The teacup's eyes widened as he saw the Beast float off of the ground. It was magic, magic of the most wonderful kind.

"Wow!" thought Chip. Before Babette could stop him, he'd hopped on top of Sultan and ridden him through the doorway.

Moments later, he was a human boy once more riding on a big scruffy dog, screaming his Mama's name in wonderment. She'd picked him up and held him tight, and everything had been great again.

Well, almost everything…

Chip had never forgotten the bad man with his raven-black hair and raging eyes. He'd even had nightmares about him for a while, always with him climbing up the balcony—a monster with rotting flesh…

"Monsieur?"

Green eyes stared at him in alarm. He looked down to see his fork in his hand dangling downwards, a mouthful of potage slowly making its way from utensil to crockery. He placed it back in the bowl and swallowed hard, then fought to keep sarcasm from his next statement.

"He sounds like one hell of a guy."

He paused.

"Did you know him? Personally I mean."

"No, monsieur." She shook her head, sending flashes of reddened dawn-light across the wall. 2I was a child of three when it happened and I did not live here. There are many stories about him. Most travellers who pass through here have heard one or another."

Chip finished the last of his meal.

"Well, now I can claim to be one of them."

He had meant this to be a closing sentence, deciding it was time he was moving on and away from the town and unwelcome ghosts of the past. His new-found acquaintance, however, had other ideas.

"Where are you headed to, Monsieur?"

She studied his face inquisitively as she asked this, trying to deduce the answer for herself before he spoke. A frown darted suddenly to and from her lip though, as his unremarkable clothes and expressionless features gave away nothing. Her keen eyes returned to his and awaited his response. It was to be just as vague.

"Nowhere in particular, 'damoiselle."

That much at least was true; Chip's destination was indeed unknown to him. He sensed that this would not be enough to satisfy the maiden though, and so he continued, making things up as he went along.

"I'm a wanderer. I travel from place to place, with no final destination. I focus on the journey; what I learn, what it means and what I gain from it. I plan to go into the woods yonder but after that, it is fate that guides me."

The words slid off his tongue like poetry, and he was surprised how easy it was to believe in them. He'd always had somewhat of a creative nature and it served him well, but never as well as it served him now, for the barmaid had taken in every syllable and now gazed at him in awe.

"That is…fascinating, monsieur," she purred. "Truly, you are an amazing man."

Chip blushed, though tried to hide it by reaching for his cloak.

"Thank-you, mademoiselle…"

"My name is Fauve."

"Thank-you…Fauve, but now I should be on my way."

He stood and drained the last drop of mean, before reaching into his bag and producing some coins which he placed on the table in front of the empty bowl.

"Please thank you master for an agreeable meal. It was nice to have met you, Fauve."

He bowed his head politely and made for the door, enjoying the sensation of green eyes burning into the back of his head. He no longer felt tired.

Fauve stared at the door in astonishment, her mouth open in an unsightly manner. Then, the edges of her mouth curled into a smile which travelled up to dance in her eyes. She cleared the bowl and tankard swiftly, humming to herself all the while. He had left far too much money for his meal, so she put the rest in her apron picket. After all, she had earned it. Finally, a way out.