12
SOMEWHERE, in the dim and quiet tavern nestled comfortably within the simple provincial village's town square in which Belle and her father lived, in this tavern, there was a room in the back, hidden from view, supported by the thick bricked walls. These walls offered a safe haven to Gaston when he needed solitude and a place to think in quiet without LeFou nagging him or having to brush off the triplets' incessant vying for his attentions.
He now stood before the cot that was shoved up unceremoniously against the wall when he would fall asleep in this room sometimes if he particularly was not in the right mind to deal with the villagers' vying for him.
His clothing clad for hunting was laid out before him, his black leathers, but in his confused and muddled brain, the hunter struggled to wrap his mind around what it was that he had bore witness to a few hours ago.
Upon returning to the village having followed the Prince despite being dismissed from disposing of the Changeling she-wolf, Gaston had come straight here and had not emerged.
LeFou and the others were worried about him, he was sure. Trays of food, the food cold and untouched, were left by the door by LeFou. His friend was the only other soul in the village who even knew that this room even existed.
As he stood in front of the hard and uncomfortable cot staring down at the clothing he knew he needed to put on and soon, his body began to shiver. It hurt as hell to hear Belle's voice coming from the accursed wretch, and it hurt him even worse to know that the creature had been telling him the truth. He allowed himself the feeling of gratitude that he had not killed Belle in the Wolves' Woods when he'd had her trapped within the cave he'd brought her to.
And then, when he had followed the Prince back to his estate upon ducking behind a tree and watching the man leave with the she-wolf, his curiosity had piqued and he had followed the deranged man back to his castle.
It had been easy enough to bypass his guards. The men assigned to stand guard at the iron-wrought gates of the Prince's shining castle and stroll the perimeter were nothing but a bunch of fools. Gaston had hardly had to drop back more than a few hundred feet in order to remain undetected. It was easy enough alone, under the cover of nightfall when the moon was hidden behind the autumn clouds, though winter would be upon them soon.
The guards' shifts outside would be less frequent. He'd clung to the shadows, knowing how to control his height. It was not uncomfortable for him. Gaston had never been gawky, as a lad. He was able to move quietly and swiftly, like a shadow walker.
Gaston had moved along the perimeter, peering through each of the windows, hoping to spot a glimpse of the wretched she-wolf and the Prince.
As he searched, he could not help but wonder what in the bloody hell a man seemingly in his right mind could want by bringing the creature back here. Unless the man found himself under its spell too, in which case, the realm was in great peril.
He'd finally found them at the largest window of the castle and the only one which the curtains were not pulled tightly in front of to keep the light out. He got a quick glimpse of the familiar long dark hair that he knew to be Belle's, that rich dark brown that never failed to remind him of melted chocolate before she turned away.
It was unsettling, how she looked like Belle, at least, the she-wolf had taken on the form of Belle's hair and had captured the essence of her eyes perfectly. But it was not until he began to listen intently to their conversation as best as he could and his name came up in conversation that he knew the truth. It was her. His beautiful Belle.
He would know that voice anywhere, and the affection in which the creature spoke for Maurice, the she-wolf the Prince seemed so wrongly captivated by could only be the woman that he himself was deeply, madly in love with.
The thought made his blood boil. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut the moment she had spoken his name with such animosity, venom dripping from her lips, that he could not bear to look upon Belle and the hideous Beastly monster his love had become. But it was not hearing her speak his name with hatred that now brought Gaston to tears.
No, he had grown accustomed to baiting her with his words whenever he would see the inventor's daughter about town, hoping to get a rise out of Belle. It was a game of wits they played and he always emerged victorious.
No, this was another scar, one that wounded him more deeply than Belle refusing his proposal had cut him that day.
His decision made up, his mind made, Gaston quickly dressed and grabbed for his sword belt which he had laid sprawled out at the bed's edge, as well as his bow and arrow.
He had failed Belle, but he would not fail her and Maurice again. He would go to the castle, bring Belle back home, and he would see to it the woman he received whatever care and treatment she needed in order to reverse whatever witch's hex had been unfairly cast upon her. Gaston knew such curses were only set upon individuals who deserved them, but he could think of no gentler and kinder soul than his Belle.
For her to have been cursed, he suspected their land's Prince was at fault, and for that, he could not allow the man to live, not when he was posing a danger not only to the woman he loved but to the rest of the kingdom as well.
Gaston readied himself, wanting to see his Belle return to normal, wanting to look once more into her beautiful human face. And then, when he had saved her life and had helped her curse to be lifted, she would look upon him with the admiration and love he had always longed to see. She would no longer be able to say no, and they would be married within the fortnight. Gaston scowled as he strung his quiver and bow across his back.
From the other side of his tavern's wall, he could hear raucous laughter and singing.
LeFou was singing along to an idiot bard playing a song slightly off-key and singing a love ballad of sorts.
It was a terrible song, one of those songs that Belle probably would have enjoyed. Though in truth, the bard's song was nothing to admire, nothing more than fluffy thoughts and empty words. Promises most men never kept.
He would have none of it when they wed. Gaston slipped out of the hidden room and into the back of the tavern, his eyes scanning for his friend. First, he saw the wretched bard, Louis, he thought the tow-headed idiot boy's name was, and then he found LeFou, a goofy little smile on his teary face.
Gaston nearly felt sick with burning rage as he saw his best friend's sickening little grin, and for a moment, he forgot that other villagers were beginning to notice and call him. Instead, he stalked forward and waited for LeFou to look at him before searching for any sign of Maurice. He found him standing by the front door, his gray hair windswept and red in the face from the cold. Winter was coming, and the temperatures would only continue to get colder.
Maurice's brows were furrowed, and the edges of his mouth turned down into a deep frown as he spotted Gaston stalking toward LeFou. Gaston had seen Maurice's face light up with recognition when he saw him and it gave the hunter a sense of hope that the old man was aware of what had become of his daughter. He hoped that Maurice would prove to him here and now that he wasn't crazy, he wasn't a right old mental bit not in his right mind and that by proving his worthiness to the old mental bit, Maurice would give his blessing and allow him to marry Belle.
If this were the case, he'd not have to be forced to resort to such measures as forcing his hand in the matter.
"LeFou, to me, now, do not make me say it a second time, my friend, of all people, you should know that I really hate saying things a second time," he barked at his friend and gestured for the short squat little man to follow him and come away from the bard, who was starting up another sickening love song, this one worse than the last.
He scowled heavily as LeFou darted forward, but his lips were turned downward and his eyes were squinted slightly as he took note of the sword resting on his hip and his crossbow at his back.
"Wh-where are we going, Gaston? Out?" he squeaked in a shrill voice, looking displeased, but his voice trembled.
Gaston shot LeFou a rueful look with pursed lips and was looking at his best friend as though the shorter squat man were such a disappointment. LeFou's cheeks flushed and turned a deep shade of cherry red, but he held at least two brain cells and used those two meager cells to keep his mouth shut. The last thing LeFou wanted to do right now was stroke Gaston's temper. Gaston nearly growled in frustration and turned towards Maurice, his expression softening somewhat, but his pale colorless grey eyes never lost their unswerving determination and resolve.
Gaston reached out and clapped a strong and calloused hand onto Maurice's shoulder so hard that he nearly caused the old man to toddle backward and lose his balance. He almost backed into one of the triplets, Claudette, as she balanced a heavily laden tray in her hands bearing hearty bowls of steaming soup and kegs of ale for a table.
She snapped at him to watch his step, but Maurice seemed to have eyes only for Gaston.
When Claudette was out of earshot, he spoke.
"I don't want you to worry about Belle, Maurice. I'm going to save her, bring her back, and we'll find a cure for her…ailment," Gaston muttered, and was surprised to see shock brimming to life behind Maurice's kind dark eyes.
Gaston and LeFou both watched as the furrow of confusion deepened between the old man's brow, and Gaston was hit with the realization then that Maurice did not know what had become of his beloved Belle.
The old coot was oblivious to the fact that his daughter was cursed.
"Whatever on earth are you talking about, Gaston? What could Belle need saving from?" Maurice quietly asked, utterly confused. "Belle has taken work in the castle. The Prince himself has spoken of this," her father muttered.
Gaston began to fret in place and nibbled on the wall of his mouth as he weighed the pros and cons of whether or not to tell the old man the truth.
Finally, he decided not to conceal the truth from the old man, thinking perhaps that divulging the truth, would endear him more to Belle's father. Maurice would happily give his blessing and consent for the two of them to marry.
"I'm sorry that I have to be the one to tell you this, but Belle has been cursed, Maurice," Gaston stated simply, his words sounding almost cold. He had the brief satisfaction of watching the color drain from Maurice's plump ruddy cheeks. The confusion plastered all over the old man's face quickly turned into a look of utmost hurt and anger.
When Maurice spoke, his voice trembled.
"How?" he questioned, staring at Gaston incredulously and shaking his head as though in denial of the hunter's words. Gaston could only stare, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the man.
Gaston watched as Belle's father began to sway on his feet and if it were not for LeFou darted forward and clinging onto Maurice's forearm, the old bit would have likely fallen, due to the shock that was ringing in Maurice's ears.
"Wh-what…that's not possible, I-I don't…I never…who on God's green earth would want to curse my sweet Belle, my poor Belle, I don't understand," Maurice stammered, unable to form a coherent reply as he clung to LeFou tightly.
Gaston shook his head. He wished he had the answers that the old man sought. But the most comfort he could give to his future father-in-law was that once Belle would come away with him, the spell would be undone.
He would find a way, even if he had to take her somewhere like Monsieur D'Arque's asylum to be kept hidden from the rest of the villagers here who would be afraid of the Beast that poor Belle had become. She would go, for her own safety, but it would not be a permanent arrangement. Only until a cure could be found for her.
Finally, after a long pause, Gaston spoke, hoping to supplicate Maurice somewhat and ease the old man's fears that everything would be fine.
"I don't know how it happened, Maurice, but I promise you that I will get her back, no matter what it takes. I will not tell you what your daughter has become, for it would only frighten you. But I promise to you, that her curse will be undone. I swear it. LeFou, with me," he barked hoarsely.
Gaston glanced out the tavern windows at the front of his establishment and noticed the wind picking up. The low sound of rolling thunder could be heard from outside, and with winter fast approaching, storms would be more frequent. He wanted to leave the village now in time to find adequate shelter in case a storm happened upon them.
LeFou was looking utterly miserable at Gaston forcing him to accompany him, though LeFou was his eyewitness that Belle was the Changeling Beast that she had become. Then if questioned, the other villagers would say that it was for the good of everyone that he'd whisked Belle away from the castle, and no questions would be asked of him.
Gaston turned away, the sound of Maurice's pleading voice reaching his eardrums, begging Gaston for more answers, answers that he himself could not give and it did not matter now. All that mattered was Belle back in his arms and into Monsieur D'Arque's institution until a solution to Belle's 'furry little problem' could be found.
Gaston did not allow himself to look back as he stepped outside the tavern and into the bitterly cold night air with LeFou trailing behind. Gaston and LeFou left Belle's father alone in his tavern, unable to call for Gaston in defeat.
UNKNOWING of the grave danger she was in as Gaston was heading toward the castle, Belle rested her head against the windowsill of a reading nook in the library big enough for a person to create a small nook to comfortably read in, and Belle, since the following night when the Prince had showed her his library, had done just that.
She had crafted a comfortable space to read using cushions and as many spare blankets as Mrs. Potts and the other maids could spare parting with. She spent the majority of her time that day with her nose buried in countless books, searching for any hint or clue as to what Agathe could have meant by the rather cryptic words 'Love and Blood.'
So far, her search was proving futile as she was coming up empty-handed.
Belle could feel herself beginning to grow frustrated. She could already feel the beginnings of a headache coming on and was just rubbing her eyes tiredly when she heard the sound of footsteps coming from behind.
She straightened her posture and looked up interestedly.
Belle was half hoping that it would have been the Prince coming to pay her a visit and she struggled to control the disappointment on her face when she realized it was the Prince's personal servant and maître d, Monsieur Lumiere.
In his hands, he carried a supper tray. Belle cast a furtive glance toward the clock by the fireplace's mantle and winced. She'd not realized it was nearly suppertime. She returned her gaze to Monsieur Lumiere in front of her, who was already moving to set the tray containing her meal on a small table.
"Goodness, is it that time already? Thank you, monsieur, I'm afraid I got caught up in this book and didn't pay close enough attention to what time it was, you did not have to bring me something to eat. I could have taken myself to the kitchens and gotten something for myself. I'm starting to know my way around here by now," she nervously chuckled. Belle slid off of her reading nook and approached the table, trying to thank the man with just her eyes.
Lumiere smiled good-naturedly. "Fear not, mademoiselle, the Prince is out with his horse for fresh air, he asked me to ensure that you were given something to eat, but he would return by nightfall at the latest. It is nice to see you and master are getting along," Lumiere complimented as he watched the young she-wolf take a bite of soup.
Belle's expression froze, the spoon in her hand halfway to her mouth. She lowered the utensil back into the bowl of steaming onion soup, the dish the chefs made easily becoming one of her favorites as the days passed her by here.
"What?" she stammered. "What—what on earth do you mean?" she demanded, her tone utterly stunned.
Lumiere's lips twitched as he fought back a caring smile. "I merely mean to say, Ma Cherie, that you and Prince Adam seem to be friends now," he was careful to choose his words carefully. "It is...good to see the master smile."
Lumiere had volunteered to deliver the Beast's meal to her when Mrs. Potts' lumbago had begun to flare up in her joints and cause her pain, though Mrs. Potts had been about to take the tray to the library herself. In truth, he had wanted to speak to the Changeling girl himself and now while they were alone might be his only opportunity.
It had always been his and Cogsworth's hope that the Duke's son would be able to find some small semblance of peace and happiness in his life with someone worthy of him and of a like mind with similar interests.
"Those of us who have served the Prince all his life can see the change within him. I know that perhaps it might be difficult for you to see it, mademoiselle, as you have only been with us not that long, but please trust me when I tell you that to see him smile again is a good change. The master has not smiled at all following his mother's death."
Belle gave Lumiere a curious look. Sensing her unease, he spoke, hoping to set her mind at ease. He raised his hands as if to surrender and began to back away, wanting to let the lady eat in peace.
Lumiere sensed she was not in the right mood for company right now, that her search for a cure to her curse was taking up all the space in her mind, and turned to go. But before he could leave her alone, he could not help but voice one final thought. He peered at the Changeling girl over his shoulder.
"I do not know the circumstances of how the master came to bring you back, mademoiselle, but we are glad you're here. We hope that perhaps you might, ah, consider staying with us. Permanently," he emphasized as if his meaning were not already clear enough. "The master, though he will never dare admit it out loud, he wishes for that, Belle."
Lumiere watched as Belle's expression grew crestfallen and wistful, her stare becoming glassy.
"If I cannot lift this curse, monsieur, then I fear home is lost, and I may have no choice but to stay here, as your master's guest. I do love it here, of course, I do, this castle is beautiful, but...it would not be the same. Not without...not without my father, monsieur," Belle whispered, a thousand hints of sadness echoing in her voice.
Lumiere studied the young Beast compassionately, wishing there was some way he could set her mind at ease. He wanted to tell her that not all hope was lost, that she was sure to see her father again and any other family that might be worried sick about her back in her village, but instead, he only clicked his tongue in disappointment.
For once, his silver tongue which never failed him before was failing him now. To give himself a moment to think over the right words he could say to her that might just put her mind at ease and soothe the fear and worry in her heart, he looked towards the window, at the weeny snowflakes that were beginning to settle upon the grounds.
Winter was coming, and it was looking to be an even more brutal one than the last, but the snow was not what Lumiere's kind hazel eyes were drawn to. Mrs. Potts' son, Chip, a small boy of no older than seven, was outside alone on the grounds, unprotected, standing near the iron-wrought gates, but the lad was not alone.
He never wandered too far, thank God, but Chip was the mischievous type and now seemed to be no exception.
Lumiere's face drained of color as he caught sight of a man standing on the other side of the gate and the boy was talking to him now. Belle noticed the Prince's servant was looking troubled and she curiously followed the older man's gaze to see what it was that had Monsieur Lumiere so upset.
The moment her eyes first landed on Gaston, at first, she couldn't quite process the information, but even from this distance, she swore he sensed he was being watched. For he looked up and saw her, his grey eyes narrowed.
A chill ripped through Belle that she knew had nothing to do with the cold breezes that tend to waft through the castle corridors and rooms as winter crept upon them. Turning on her heels, though every inch of her was practically screaming at her now to stay put, she knew she could not let that little boy suffer by Gaston's hand.
If she did not see what he wanted, getting the boy away from Gaston would be nearly impossible, Belle realized, with a sickening feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.
"Stay here, please, I know this man. He is dangerous. The boy is not safe. He is here for me, and is using that poor boy as bait," Belle heard herself answer in a voice that was strangely flat and devoid of any emotion at all.
"What?" Lumiere spluttered, hardly daring to believe it. "No, Mademoiselle, I cannot let you risk your life in this way, we should wait for the master to return, he will surely send the man on his way, please!" Lumiere tried to protest, though his voice was small. If it was at all possible, Lumiere's face paled a shade further until the handsome golden-haired man looked as though he had become a ghost. He vehemently shook his head and darted forward, clutching at Belle's arm trying to stop her, and was halted in his efforts as Belle turned around in a twist of her skirts.
Lumiere flinched as he saw the shadow of the Beast that she was flashing across her monstrous furry features, and for a moment, Lumiere was unnerved by this girl.
"I will be fine, monsieur, you are sweet to worry about me," she whispered, though she cringed as she realized her voice lacked the conviction to sell the argument she wanted to make, and the tremble in her voice gave away to Lumiere that she was afraid. "We can't, sir, you yourself said the Prince might not return until nightfall. As I said, he is here for me. I do not think he will hurt me," Belle answered.
Before Lumiere could protest and find some excuse to keep her here, in a twist of her skirts, Belle had turned away and was already heading towards the exit.
Belle shivered as she left the relative warmth and comfort of the library and out into the cold and dreary darkened halls of the corridor that would take her through the servants' wing of the castle and out the side door.
As she walked, Belle feebly attempted to calm her racing heart as she ran a paw through her hair and sighed. The Prince, as difficult as it was for her to believe it, considering the circumstances that led to her being here in the first place, was quickly becoming a blessing in disguise. He was doing so much for her and asked for so little in return.
Now, perhaps it was her turn to give something back.
She could at least do what she could to keep his servants' son safe from Gaston. She did not want anyone else to get hurt if there was a chance that she could stop it from happening.
It was thoughts of the Prince that gave her courage, and not wanting to look into his distraught blue eyes if something were to happen to this boy. Belle knew the man cared for his servants, even if he was not so good at expressing it with his words. She could see it in his eyes. This thought gave her courage, as she approached the door that would lead her onto the grounds. In full view of Gaston, with nowhere to hide from the hunter again.
Belle came to a grinding halt as she stopped in front of the door in hesitation. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as Belle gazed down at the door handle she knew she needed to grab onto.
That boy, Chip, was in trouble and she could not remain safely tucked away here within these stone walls when there was a chance Gaston could hurt him in order to get to her.
A chilly breeze blew past her just then, the soft fabric of her dress flowing to the side of her, and her furry paw seemed to have a mind of its own as Belle shakily rose it to the doorknob.
Her slender fingers curled around the chipped handle, and the overwhelmed Beast mumbled a quick prayer under her breath and prayed for God to watch over her, to give her strength and bravery, and this boy, Mrs. Potts' son.
"God help me," Belle whispered, speaking just barely above a whisper.
Before her resolve could fail her, with a firm twist and a push of the door, the massive oak panel that was the servants' entrance into and out of the castle creaked open, creaking horribly in its rusted iron hinges as it did so.
She breathed a heavy sigh and slipped out of the door and closed it behind her.
She was smart enough not to look back.