THE tavern was abuzz with the lively chatter and laughter of its patrons, many of whom sought refuge from the cooling chill of the early autumn that had descended upon France. Old man winter was not far behind, and the warm, dimly lit establishment offered a welcoming escape from the crisp evening air.
Gaston sat in the center of it all, his back turned to the crowd, his brooding gaze fixed on the roaring fire in the hearth. He attempted to ignore the throbbing pain in his nose, a painful reminder of his recent defeat.
LeFou, the ever-loyal sidekick, continued to scurry about, a concerned look etched on his face.
For the past day and a half, he had pleaded with Gaston to allow him to mend his broken nose, as it could not stay in its current state. The tavern's patrons, curious and sensing that something extraordinary was unfolding, craned their necks to get a better look. The tale of Gaston's humiliation had spread like wildfire through the village, and now it seemed the whole town was eager to witness the impending confrontation.
Gaston's nose was still broken, and it was LeFou's unenviable task to set it. The grimacing hunter reluctantly turned himself in his chair to face his friend, and LeFou, with trembling hands, began to work on his friend's injury. The pain etched on Gaston's face was palpable, but he bore it with a stern resolve.
He was not one to show weakness, even in the face of adversity. As LeFou carefully manipulated the shattered bones, Gaston's thoughts were consumed by the events of that fateful evening.
The guard who had defended Belle's delusional decision to remain in the castle as a servant to the Prince of the realm had humiliated him. The humiliation of being bested by a mere servant, a former comrade in arms or not, was an affront to his wounded pride, and Gaston's rage simmered like a volcano ready to erupt.
As LeFou worked diligently to set Gaston's broken nose, he could feel the tension in the room. The villagers knew that this confrontation was not just about a broken nose; it was about Gaston's wounded pride and his unyielding determination to reclaim Belle. LeFou knew his friend better than anyone, and he had seen Gaston in many fits of rage before, but this was different. This was a fire burning hotter and brighter than ever before.
"By all the saints, Gaston," LeFou muttered, averting his eyes for a moment as he set out to fetch Gaston a steaming bowl of soup. He hoped a hot meal might be enough to coax his friend into sitting down, giving LeFou a chance to calm him down. "You'll be right as rain in no time, just you wait."
Gaston rose from his chair, a formidable presence that made LeFou instinctively shrink away.
The former military captain's colorless grey eyes locked onto LeFou's as he stood, his commanding figure casting a shadow over his sidekick. Gaston's voice rumbled like distant thunder as he addressed the onlookers, who had covertly watched his humiliation but did their best to hide it from him.
"It's not just about the nose, LeFou," Gaston growled as his eyes locked onto LeFou's, and there was an intensity in them that sent a shiver down his spine. "It's about that wretched Prince's bastard of a guard who dared to break it," he hissed through clenched teeth. "He thinks he can keep me from reclaiming Belle, but he's gravely mistaken, my friend."
As LeFou hurried to obtain a bowl of steaming soup from a passing tavern wench, he attempted to reason with his closest friend. "Uh, Gaston," he began tentatively, doing his best not to spill a single drop of soup on the floor, "perhaps it's worth reconsidering. Going against the Prince and his servants – it's madness, even treason."
Gaston's patience wore thin as his rage smoldered.
"Madness? No, LeFou, it's destiny. Belle belongs to me and me alone, and I won't let some wretched Prince and his lackeys stand in my way. She's the most beautiful woman in the village and I am the most deserving of her. No one will deny me what's rightfully mine, LeFou!" he passionately proclaimed.
Gaston's fervent proclamation hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the casual conversations and clinking of tankards that filled the tavern. His eyes, colorless grey, now seemed cold, watery, and uninviting.
LeFou could sense that his friend's obsession with Maurice's daughter had taken too dark a turn, one that was leading him down a treacherous path of blind determination, a path LeFou was not sure he could follow.
LeFou, continuing to hold the steaming bowl of soup for Gaston in his hands, was troubled by his best friend's resolve. He had seen his friend do incredible feats in the past, particularly on the front lines of battle, but this…this was different.
Gaston's unyielding determination, his willingness to defy the Prince of the realm and those who served him, was a dangerous path to tread. LeFou couldn't help but worry about the consequences of such an audacious and reckless plan to reclaim Belle.
"Perhaps, Gaston, we could find another way," LeFou suggested in a warbling voice as he set the bowl of soup down on a small wooden side table in front of Gaston, sensing the man wasn't going to eat. He let out a shaky breath and continued as he felt the burn of Gaston's gaze threatening to bore through him. "I mean, there must be a way to win Belle's heart without resorting to such extreme measures. You're a hero in this village, and surely, she could come to love you if you were to show her your better side."
But Gaston's gaze drifted away from LeFou and towards Maurice, who had entered the tavern a moment ago while LeFou had pleaded his case. Maurice was thankfully unaware of the heated exchange unfolding between Gaston and LeFou. He watched as Maurice nervously scanned the room, his eyes darting around until they came to rest on him. Belle's father reacted with a start when he realized Gaston was staring at him.
Slowly, he moved through the tavern, heading toward Gaston's location. It was at that moment that Gaston observed the haggard and anxious appearance of the elderly man.
The eccentric inventor, previously seen as somewhat unhinged, now appeared as a frightened and frail individual. Something was deeply troubling him. Maurice seemed as if he hadn't had a proper night's rest. The signs of exhaustion were evident. As he drew closer to where Gaston and LeFou were situated, his furrowed brow revealed the profound distress and worry weighing heavily on him.
Gaston's gaze remained fixed on Maurice as the old man was closer now. His nostrils flared with disdain at the thought of changing his approach and he remembered he owed his friend a response.
"LeFou, you always were too much of a dreamer," Gaston scoffed, glancing at the soup LeFou had left for him and looking away from the dinner without taking a single bite. "I don't need to change who I am. Men in the world we live in take what they want. And what I want is Belle. No one, not even Maurice, or our realm's precious Prince, will keep me from her. They have no right."
Maurice finally came to a halt a few feet from Gaston and LeFou and cleared his throat nervously before speaking. "Monsieur, good, you are here, I was hoping that I would find you here. I want to talk to you about your engagement to Belle. I have some concerns, and I believe that I should discuss them with you."
Gaston, his brow furrowing, exchanged a quizzical glance with LeFou before turning his full attention to Maurice. He had expected a conversation with Belle's father, but this unexpected turn was certainly not in his favor.
Maurice, taking a deep breath, continued with a determined but shaky voice. "Gaston, I've thought long and hard about this, and I cannot allow you to marry Belle. I must rescind my acceptance of your proposal, and I must decline the dowry."
Gaston's face flushed with anger as he processed the inventor's unexpected declaration and a storm brewed in his eyes. He clenched his fists at his side to keep from striking out at Belle's father in anger, though the news had hit him like a sudden thunderclap.
"You…you can't be serious, Maurice! You gave me your word, and I expect you to honor it. Belle is to be my wife!" he hissed in a low and dangerous voice that was almost a growl, the edges of his lips curling up in a feral snarl.
Maurice, unwavering, however, held his ground. "I understand the commitment I made to you, Gaston, monsieur, but the circumstances have changed. I've come to realize that Belle's happiness is of paramount importance, and I believe there's a better match for her."
Gaston's voice grew louder, causing a stir in the tavern as nearby patrons began to take notice.
"A better match? Maurice, do you even hear yourself? How foolish you sound? There is no better match for her than me! I'm the only one in this village who matches your daughter, who challenges her, who would do anything for her! You cannot take this back. It's a matter of honor, Maurice," Gaston angrily protested.
But Maurice's resolve remained firm. "I understand your perspective, Gaston, I truly do, but I must do what's best for my daughter. I can't allow her to marry someone who won't truly make her happy. I'm willing to return the dowry, and I hope you can find happiness elsewhere."
Gaston seethed with rage, his face turning a deep shade of crimson as it twisted with anger, and in a sudden fit of fury, he lashed out. With a swift and forceful motion, he slapped Maurice across the face, the sounding sound echoing through the tavern. The violent act stunned the onlookers, and the room fell into a heavy and awkward silence, with the patrons gasping and whispering amongst themselves.
Maurice, his cheek stinging from the blow, staggered backward with the force of Gaston's slap as he clutched at his face, his eyes wide with shock and his jaw reddening.
He had not expected Gaston to react to his news with such violence and he thought he was beginning to understand what Belle meant when his daughter confessed there was something dark lurking underneath the military captain's façade, something he didn't want others to see.
The other tavern-goers watched in a mixture of horror and disbelief, uncertain of how to respond to this sudden outburst.
LeFou, torn between his loyalty to Gaston and his sympathy for Maurice, stood frozen in place, his eyes darting between the two men. He was unsure of how to defuse the situation or what would happen next.
Maurice, his voice trembling but his resolve unbroken managed to speak despite the pain and shock. "Gaston, violence won't change my decision. I'll still rescind my acceptance, and Belle won't marry you. She was right about you, all this time. I should have listened to her."
Gaston, his face red with rage and his breathing heavy, leaned in close to Maurice. "You doddering old fool, Maurice, you don't know what you're doing," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "You'll pay for this, old man."
As the tavern patrons continued to watch in a mix of shock and concern, LeFou, realizing the gravity of the situation, tried to intervene. "Gaston, please, let's not make matters worse. Please, just calm down!"
But Gaston, still seething with anger, paid little heed to his oldest friend's words. With one final venomous look at Maurice, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the tavern, leaving behind a lingering atmosphere of tension and hostility.
Gaston's footsteps were heavy and purposeful as he stormed towards the stables. His mind was consumed by a singular, vengeful thought. He was determined to find a way to gain the upper hand, to ensure that Belle would be his, no matter the cost. Reaching the stables, Gaston swiftly mounted his horse, its powerful frame a perfect match for his unwavering determination. The villagers had often looked to him as their savior, and now, he believed it was his duty to save them, especially Maurice, from their misguided judgments.
With a chilling resolve, Gaston spurred his mount and set off towards the nearby insane asylum on the other side of the countryside, where he knew an old acquaintance, Monsieur D'Arque, held considerable influence.
Monsieur D'Arque was a personal friend of the king of France, a keeper of the asylum, a man who dealt in the darkest corners and dregs of society, and Gaston believed the man might be able to assist him in a plan to secure Belle's affections. As he rode through the darkening woods, Gaston's thoughts raced.
He was determined to manipulate the situation to his advantage, even if it meant delving into the most sinister of plots. Gaston had set his course, and nothing would deter him from his dark decision.
The journey to the asylum was filled with the ominous rustling of leaves and the distant hooting of owls. But Gaston paid them no mind, his one-track mind now fully consumed by his burning desire to win Belle's heart and affection, no matter the depths he would have to sink to achieve it.
As he reached the imposing gates of the asylum, he dismounted his horse at the order of a guard, strode confidently towards the entrance, and announced himself.
The guard, recognizing Gaston as a visitor to the asylum, albeit infrequently, quickly ushered him inside and led the way to the entrance. Monsieur D'Arque, a man with a sinister reputation and a cunning mind, had connections that reached into the darkest recesses of society.
Gaston had known him for years, and now, he intended to call upon their acquaintance for a plan that would ensure his triumph over Belle and her rejection of him.
The asylum was a foreboding place, with high walls and barred windows that seemed to imprison not only its inmates but also the dark secrets that festered within.
Gaston, despite his bravado, couldn't help but shiver as he entered the cold, dimly lit interior.
The guard led him to D'Arque's office, a room filled with grotesque curiosities and bizarre paraphernalia. D'Arque himself, a thin and wiry man with a sinister smile and calculating eyes, looked up from his desk as Gaston entered and closed the door behind him.
"Monsieur Gaston, a pleasant surprise to find you here. What brings you to my humble establishment at this hour?" D'Arque inquired, the elder's tone filled with a predatory curiosity.
Gaston wasted no time, his voice low and menacing. "I need your assistance, D'Arque, I apologize for the lateness of my visit, but it could not be helped. There's a woman in my village I desire, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to have her. I need you to help me…remove any obstacles that are in my path."
D'Arque's smile widened, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. "My dear man, I do believe we can come to an arrangement. But remember, such delicate matters often come at a price."
Gaston leaned in closer as he moved to occupy the seat in front of D'Arque's polished mahogany desk. He kept his gaze locked on him as he spoke, his voice a whisper filled with malevolence. "I want Maurice imprisoned in your asylum, D'Arque. And I want Belle to witness his confinement. Once she sees her father declared insane, she will have no choice but to turn to me for support and protection. This will be the key to making her mine."
D'Arque stroked his chin thoughtfully, contemplating Gaston's proposition. "Imprisoning a man without just cause is a dangerous game, Gaston, my friend. It will require careful planning and discretion. But for the right price, I believe I can make it happen. What are you willing to offer me in return in exchange for taking on this risk?"
Gaston reached into his pocket and withdrew a heavy pouch of gold coins, which he placed on D'Arque's desk with a thud. "Consider this a down payment. There will be more where that came from if you help me achieve my goal. Belle will be mine, no matter the cost."
D'Arque's eyes gleamed with greed as he examined the gold. He nodded slowly. "Very well, Gaston. We have a deal. I will ensure Maurice's confinement, and Belle's witness to it. But remember, this path is fraught with danger, and the consequences may be severe."
Gaston's lips curled into a sinister smile as he rose from his chair. "I'm not afraid of consequences, D'Arque. I'll do whatever it takes to claim what's rightfully mine. Belle will be mine, and no one will stand in my way."
With their dark plan now set in motion, Gaston left the asylum, his heart filled with a twisted sense of determination. Gaston returned to his home, his mind consumed by the sinister plan he had set in motion.
The anger and obsession that had taken root within him had grown into a raging storm, and he could think of nothing but winning Belle at any cost. As he entered his home, his frustration boiled over. He couldn't stand the thought of Maurice opposing him, and he wanted to ensure that Belle had no choice but to turn to him.
In a fit of madness, he seized a torch from a sconce and stormed out of his home, heading for Maurice's humble cottage that if he was being honest with himself, was little more than a tumbledown shack.
The night was shrouded in darkness, the moon obscured by heavy clouds as Gaston quietly approached Maurice's home, swift and silent like a shadow walker. The thatched roof and wooden walls of the cottage were vulnerable to the flaming torch Gaston dangerously wielded in his hand.
With a manic, wild look in his eyes, he set Maurice and Belle's home ablaze, the flames licking hungrily at the structure. The fire quickly roared to life, casting eerie, dancing shadows in the night.
Gaston watched with malicious satisfaction as the cottage was quickly consumed by the inferno. He knew that the destruction of Maurice's home would serve as the final blow, forcing Belle into his arms in a twisted display of power and manipulation. As he stood back and watched as the cottage burned, the night air filled with the acrid scent of smoke and the terrified screams of villagers who had been awakened by the conflagration.
Gaston, in the grip of his madness, felt a rush of triumph as he watched the flames climb higher and higher, certain that he had taken another step closer to achieving his dark desires.