Perchance to Dream

Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast.

This is based on the 2017 live action version, which I really should have expected would capture my imagination with all it did—and in some cases didn't do. Filling a perceived void is sometimes just what you need to get the creative juices flowing.

It wasn't enough time, Agathe thought, watching the scene unfold in her campfire. She'd enchanted it to show her the goings-on at the castle she'd cursed and thus been keeping an eye on for the past seven years. At the moment, Belle was talking to the servants-turned-objects while the Beast slept—or pretended to sleep, it was hard to tell—in the big bed behind them. Agathe half-listened to the muted voices, occasionally missing a word here or there as her fire popped. They were telling the girl about the curse. Agathe didn't mind that, so long as they didn't tell Belle her potential part in breaking it. That would wreck everything. But it might not hurt for Belle to know that the castle's inhabitants had once been human. Especially its master.

Of course she should have known Belle would ask the question. The girl's curiosity was the stuff of quietly-whispered legend in the village. Agathe, being all but invisible to the villagers due to her status as a penniless spinster, overheard much of what was said. Belle asked the questions no one else would, and had done so from a young age. Why can't the girls attend the village school with the boys? Who says girls have to be married by a certain age? Isn't there a way to do that chore more efficiently so there's more time to read?

"There must be some way to break the curse," she said now, in the campfire-vision.

Agathe came fully alert as Cogsworth—she knew all of the servants by name after watching them for so many years—started to say "Well, there is one way—"

The Enchantress leaned forward and stretched out a hand, preparing to interfere. She could easily cause a gear to loosen in the clock's workings, just enough to make him cough and silence him before he said too much. Fortunately Lumiere beat her to it, elbowing him hard.

"It's not for you to worry about, dear," said Mrs. Potts into the gap. Agathe let out a slight breath. She knew it highly likely Belle's sharp mind would continue to work on the problem of the curse in its spare moments, but she was too conscientious to ask outright again. Unless she worked up the courage to ask the Beast-Prince himself, in which case Agathe had no doubts the girl would hit a brick wall. His Former Highness was too smart not to work out the possible unfortunate consequences of telling Belle the full truth.

Belle and the servants continued to talk, but Agathe largely tuned it out once again. She put a hand beneath her chin in thought as she stared at the girl, and the slightly-blurred figure just visible in the bed behind her.

The problem, Agathe thought again, was that there wasn't enough time, though she'd managed things quite well considering the circumstances. She'd needed to be as sure as possible Belle was the best candidate for breaking the spell before setting things into motion to bring her to the castle, and that had taken careful observation beforehand.

Belle was kind and bright, that much had been evident from the beginning. She and her father had arrived to live in the village not long after the curse was cast, having spent the earliest part of the girl's life looking for a place to live that was large enough Maurice could support himself and his daughter with his talent for fixing everything from music boxes to ploughs but not so large that the danger of disease would likely visit. Agathe had looked into their past enough to see what drove them to move from place to place for eleven years before finally settling, though she had been careful to get just the gist. Peoples' pasts were their own.

People were drawn to noticing Belle whether they wanted to or not. They just couldn't help it. She stood out from the crowd in an indefinable way. In part it was her beauty, which only increased as she grew to womanhood. In part it was that she never seemed to do what was expected. And in part she radiated a quality that was rare to find among humanity: goodness. Goodness without pretense, without an ounce of vanity. She knew people thought she was pretty, but she didn't allow it to go to her head. She knew she was smart, but she didn't deliberately lord it over anyone. Instead she desperately longed for someone to share her love of knowledge and adventure with, for someone to see that she had more to offer than good looks. Difficult to come by in a village as small and isolated as this one.

Agathe had first seriously started to consider Belle as a solution to the nearby castle's problems when the girl was sixteen and the enchantress watched her gracefully turn down a marriage proposal from a wealthy merchant three times her age. She had been kind, but so firm that there had been no repetition of the offer. Agathe had known then that the girl had a strong will and wasn't easily intimidated—or for that matter even impressed—by someone's social standing or material possessions. She'd have her work cut out for her, but perhaps those skills and stubbornness could be applied to a certain cursed prince. If only Agathe could bring it about.

And so she had, but it had taken too long. The curse's deadline was scant weeks away by the time the right circumstances had played into the enchantress's hand and she had finally managed to get Belle and the Beast under the same roof and not looking at each other with utter loathing. There was a good chance they could learn to love one another. They had so much in common, down to the longing for someone to appreciate them for who they really were and not for their outward appearances.

The problem was there were simply not enough hours in a day for them to spend together to realize this. Friendship, Agathe could see. Love, now, that took time. Especially given the pair's unfortunately rocky start. It helped that Belle now knew the Beast was really a man, but when talking about the magnitude of feelings required to break a curse, it was simply too much to ask.

Agathe watched absently as Mrs. Potts finished telling Belle of the sweet, innocent lad who had been corrupted into the mirror image of his selfish father while the servants stood by and did not interfere despite their horror at what the young master was becoming. When the story was over, Mrs. Potts rolled out on her cart. Lumiere extinguished most of the candles and ushered Belle from the room, leaving the Beast to continue recuperating. Belle paused at the doorway and looked back. Agathe could tell she viewed the figure in the bed with a lot more sympathy. She was also certain that the Beast was not quite asleep and had heard himself being discussed.

Agathe waved a hand at the fire and the scene dissolved. She continued to stare into it, watching the red flames braid into the cooler orange and yellow in a never-ending dance.

Time. How to solve this problem? Things were so close to a happy outcome. But Agathe had miscalculated the time it would take to get all the pieces in place and had come up short. She certainly couldn't slow down the clock. Even she didn't have that much power. She could try to stall the rose from wilting, but that process was already well enough begun that there wasn't much she could do. Besides, doing so would take a lot more attention than she could spare. She had to continue to monitor both the castle and the village. The smallest disruption—like that oaf Gaston stumbling upon the castle—would throw everything off.

Agathe began to prepare for bed. Perhaps a solution would come to her tomorrow after a good rest. The mind was often at its most open at night when daily cares slipped into lesser importance.

The enchantress paused in the act of turning down the warm furs she used for bedding. She narrowed her eyes as she reviewed the thought that had just casually run through her head. And then she began to smile. A solution might have presented itself after all.

-0-0-0-

Belle had thought falling asleep would be impossible after the day she'd had. There was simply too much to think about and her mind was still in a confused jumble. But she had underestimated the toll the day's stress and activities had taken. Within seconds of her head touching the pillow, she was out like a light.

Her first few sets of dreams were fairly normal, again considering the day she'd had. She counted herself lucky there were no wolves chasing her, no enormous horned figures stalking her from the shadows. There were, however, at least a few replays of singing and dancing teacups, which was pleasant enough.

Her final dream of the night felt different. There was a sharpness and clarity to it that was like no dream she could ever recall having before.

She was walking through the meadow on the hill next to the village, one of her favorite spots to go and dream herself far away. She imagined she could see all the way to Chaumont, the closest large town, from here. Of course that was many more miles away than anyone could see on the clearest of days. But still, she liked to pretend. Everything looked just as it always did. She could even feel the warmth of the sun on her face. She wore her usual blue working gown and sturdy brown boots.

She turned away from the village and jumped. The view from this direction was very different than the one she remembered. Looking down the hill in that direction, it led into the snow-covered woods she'd ridden Philippe through twice that day. Easily visible on the far side was the castle, all turrets and frosty towers and balconies. She thought she could pick out which window in the East Wing was hers, where she was supposed to be sleeping.

Before she could think too long about this, however, her eyes detected movement in the trees at the base of the hill. Something was pushing its way through the icy thicket towards her. Belle squinted, but she couldn't make out much about it other than it was vaguely human shaped. It seemed to be trying to move quickly, thrashing in an almost frantic way. Curious, she started down the hill towards whoever it was.

By the time she'd made it about halfway down the hill, the figure finally emerged. It stumbled out of the last of the brush and began to run towards her, weaving a bit and clutching one arm close to its chest. Belle increased her speed to meet it.

She chanced speaking. "Hello? Are you all right?" she said.

Blue eyes looked up at her wildly, in a face half out of its mind with panic. The figure was a young man, perhaps a few years older than she, dressed in fine clothes that might have been meant for riding, though she saw no horse with him. His very long blond hair had once been pulled back neatly to the nape of his neck, but much of it had come loose and hung about his face in tangled snarls that were damp from the snow. As he came closer, she saw that his beautiful shirt, vest and breeches were torn in places and his boots were covered in mud.

"What are you doing?" he shouted at her. "Run! They're going to—!" He stumbled up to her and she nearly had to catch him in her arms to keep him from bowling her over.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "Who?"

"The—" He finally chanced a glance behind him. When he saw there was nothing there, he finally paused. He looked ready to collapse, shuddering and gasping for breath.

"Here," said Belle. She slid an arm around his waist. "I'll help you. We can get up the hill. You'll be safe, and can rest. We'll see if anything comes out of the woods."

He could only nod. They started up the hill, weaving like a pair of drunks. Belle thought with amusement that if this weren't a dream, this would be the second time today she'd helped someone who'd been about to fall over any second from injury and exhaustion.

Once they reached the top of the hill, she helped him sit on the ground. "There. Take it easy. Let me see that arm." She gestured at the arm that he still clutched to his chest. She could see there was blood on the shoulder seeping into the silk of his vest.

"No," he mumbled, clearly nearly delirious and leaning away from her. "It hurt last time you touched it."

"What?" said Belle, staring. Even had this not been a dream, she was certain she'd never seen this young man before, let alone touched him.

He looked at her through the strands of his blond hair. His eyes were clouded and he didn't seem to be able to focus on her very well. He flinched a little when Belle knelt and gently pushed his hair away from his face. "Where are they?" he muttered. "Did they hurt you?"

"Who?" asked Belle.

"The wolves."

"Wolves?" Belle glanced nervously back down the hill the way they had come. She could see nothing in the woods, nor did she near any howls.

"No," she answered. "We're safe here."

This seemed to placate him even in his delirium. "Good. I would hate to see you hurt."

Belle put a hand to his forehead. "You're burning up." She was tempted to suggest that his fever had caused him to imagine the wolves, but the injury on his shoulder said otherwise. Something had certainly bloodied him pretty badly.

"Try to relax," she soothed. "You have a fever. And I'm starting to think I might have one as well. This is a very strange dream."

His blue eyes met hers again. "A dream?"

Belle shot awake. At first she was totally disoriented, but then she realized where she was: the castle. The fancy bedroom. The talking furniture. The wolves that had chased her and Philippe down. The Beast. Real. That was all real. The meadow and the strange young man had been a dream.

The wardrobe nearby started awake. "Ah! Good mooooorning mademoiselle!" Madame de Garderobe sang in her cheerful Italian accent.

"Good morning," Belle returned, still trying to shake away the last of her dream. She declined the offer of help choosing her clothes and requested something similar to her usual wear. Grumbling, Madame obliged. Once she was attired for the day, Mrs. Potts appeared with a tray of breakfast. Belle inquired after the Beast.

"Oh, he'll be in bed all day today, I'll wager," said the motherly teapot. "He developed a fever overnight, poor love."

Belle dropped her spoon. "What?"

"He'll be just fine, dearie. Don't you fret. He just needs a bit of care. We'll see him through this, as we always have."

"Can I see him?" At Mrs. Potts' startled look, Belle added, "I want to help. He…he saved my life."

"Well, that would be a kindness, and a big help to be sure," Mrs. Potts admitted. "But are you certain…"

"I'm sure. I've nursed Papa before when he was ill."

"If that's the way you want it." If she'd had shoulders, Belle was certain Mrs. Potts would have shrugged, still puzzled over Belle's attitude. Belle couldn't explain. She couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't a coincidence, the delirious man in her dream having a fever and the Beast also developing one. How seeing him this morning was going to resolve this Belle wasn't sure, but she'd also told the truth about wanting to help. She owed the Beast that much at least.

She bolted the rest of her breakfast and she and Mrs. Potts set off together. They met Cogsworth coming out of the West Wing. "Mrs. Potts!" the stuffy clock said. "Thank goodness you're here. He's been mumbling about wolves and calling for his mother all morning. Oh, good morning mademoiselle," he said, belatedly noticing Belle standing there.

"Good morning, Cogsworth," Belle replied.

"She's here to help," said Mrs. Potts.

"Ah, excellent!"

"Go on to the kitchens and tell them we'll need a basin of cold water from the well and a clean cloth. We must cool the poor love down," ordered Mrs. Potts. "If the lass will carry me, you can take the cart." She winked conspiratorially at Belle. When Belle obligingly picked her up, she whispered, "We'll be waiting all morning if he walks."

Belle smiled back. Together they went into the West Wing, where Belle set Mrs. Potts down on the nightstand where she could see everything.

The bed was a rumpled mess. Its occupant had evidently been tossing and turning, his sleep disturbed by fever. At the moment, the Beast lay still, but his eyes shuttered restlessly back and forth beneath their lids and his paws moved idly, unconsciously plucking at his fur. Belle sat on the edge of the bed next to him and put the back of her hand to his forehead. As Mrs. Potts had said, he was burning up beneath the coat of fur.

He seemed to relax a little at her touch. "Maman?" he asked plaintively. It was surprising how childlike and pleading that deep voice could sound.

Belle knew better than to correct someone this far gone with fever. It would only upset them. "Rest," she said instead. "You'll feel better soon."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Help me. Please. Help me break the curse."

"I'll try," Belle promised.

That appeared to soothe him completely. Another sigh, and the twitching relaxed into what looked like real sleep. Belle set about carefully setting the bedcovers to rights and tucking them about him. When she finished, the cool water arrived. Belle soaked the cloth and bathed the Beast's forehead. Putting the cloth back into the bowl, she regarded him.

What sort of man was this? Clearly he'd been awful enough to get himself cursed. She had little trouble believing that, after what he'd done to her and to her father. He'd seemed to have a heart of stone. Yet he'd come after her when she'd run away, protecting her from the wolves at the expense of his own health. He now lay in pain and with a fever from his efforts. There was clearly some humanity buried beneath the horns and fangs.

And what did the dream she'd had last night mean? Unlike most of her past dreams, she still remembered every detail. Including the bedraggled, frightened young man clearly suffering the effects of a fever, claiming he'd been chased by wolves. With a wound on his shoulder eerily similar to the one she'd tried to treat on the Beast yesterday.

Belle shook her head. She didn't have enough evidence to answer her questions now. Nor could she gather more until that night. She'd just have to wait and see if she dreamed of him again. In the meantime, she had a patient to look after.

She stayed with him all day, bathing his forehead and spooning broth into his mouth in his few moments of lucidity. Navigating a spoon past his fangs without spilling everywhere was a tricky business. Thankfully, towards evening the fever broke. Belle left to eat a simple meal of her own, and when she got back Mrs. Potts reported that he'd awoken, in his right mind, and had had the strength to feed himself before going back to sleep. She sent Belle off to bed, promising to report on his condition the next morning faithfully.

Once again Belle found herself falling asleep quickly. Once again most of her dreams were normal, except the final one.

This time, instead of the meadow, she found herself in the castle, in the large parlor downstairs with the enormous fireplace. Glancing down, she saw that she was dressed in her usual clothes and boots again.

Tucked into one of the big armchairs, lap covered by a thick blanket, was the same young man as before. This time his hair was loose past his shoulders, though it was still a mess. From what little she could see beneath the blanket, he wore roomy, comfortable clothes that were still better make than her own, and a kind of wrapped dressing gown called a banyan that had to be embroidered silk.

He looked over at her and blinked. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I don't know. We're dreaming. At least, I am," she snapped, ruffled by his slightly accusing tone.

"We are?" He glanced around the room. For the first time he seemed to notice his hands. He stared at them as if surprised they were his own. Then he slowly put them up to feel his face. He sighed. His expression was sad, pained. "Yes, I suppose we must be."

Belle narrowed her eyes. "You're him, aren't you?" she demanded. She came closer, gesturing at his body. "This is what you really look like."

He frowned and tried to stand, but crumpled back into the chair as if his legs simply refused to support him. He rubbed his injured arm gingerly. Then he glanced at his hands again. "No." He shook his head slowly, still looking at his hands and not at her. "That monster is what I really look like. If, as you say, this is a dream, then this is merely illusion. The Beast is my reality, such as it is. And yours." He looked around the room. "I suppose if I were to look in that mirror over there, it would show a reflection of my human appearance, since this is as internal world of the mind. A place for wishful thinking."

"Perhaps." Belle looked around again. "Though one wonders why you're injured and weak here as well as there if this is an idealized place. I suppose a better question is, what are we doing here? Is this really a shared dream, or is my mind just conjuring up a picture of what I think you look like now that I know you were once a man? Did we really share my dream last night?"

He let out a soft chuckle. "That's easily tested. Ask the real me something about this dream tomorrow when you wake up."

"That…that actually makes sense."

"Of course it does." He looked slightly indignant. "Did you think just because I'm a monster I can't reason like a man?"

"No, of course not," she said. "It's just…so little about any of this makes much sense. It's not part of the rational world I know. My mind keeps insisting that none of it can be real. When something rational does happen, it's almost surprising at this point."

"Welcome to my life since the curse was cast. I'm afraid not much has made a great deal of logical sense since that day."

They were silent for awhile. Belle perched herself on the arm of the chair opposite him. If this really was just a dream of hers, then her imagination had done a superlative job picturing the Beast in human form down to the smallest detail. There was just enough similar that they could be one and the same, though that was mostly evident in how expressive this young man's face was. And the eyes. Those startling blue eyes were the first thing you really noticed about him. That was true for either form.

"Can I ask you something?" she inquired tentatively.

He'd been studying her with the same intensity with which she'd been observing him. He blinked, then tilted his head. "About the curse? My servants told you everything you need to know."

"You heard that?" He nodded. Then she thought of something. "How did you know what I was going to ask?"

He shrugged, and winced as his shoulder twinged. "It's the first thing I would ask, were I in your place. But breaking the curse is for me to worry about, not you. I won't saddle you with the burden. Trust me, it's better this way."

"It must be something terrible," she murmured.

He narrowed his eyes. "Very clever. You're not going to pry anything out of me that way."

"I wasn't—" she started to protest, and then realized he was right. She had been attempting another way to get more information, something, anything she could use to help. And he'd seen through her in an instant.

He was smart. She was startled to realize this. Smart, and he knew how to read people very well. She wasn't used to dealing with people at her own level of intelligence. No one in the village, not even her father or Père Robert, was quite this quick. So even though he had just caught her out, Belle wasn't annoyed. In fact, she was grudgingly impressed. If this really was what the Beast was like when he was awake and not shouting, life in the castle likely wouldn't be boring.

She smiled. "You're right," she said. "I won't try that again."

"Good. See that you don't." But he also seemed more amused than irritated.

-0-0-0-

Agathe, up early to watch the results of her labor thus far in her fire, smiled. She couldn't create more hours in a day, true. But she could make use of the usually idle hours of the night to her advantage to bring these two closer.

-0-0-0-

Mrs. Potts reported over breakfast that the Beast had slept peacefully with no return of the fever. In fact he'd felt well enough to sit up and take some breakfast of his own. Belle went in to see him, but he'd fallen back asleep. He didn't really need tending, but there wasn't much else for her to do. So she pulled up a chair and decided she'd wait for him to wake so that she could ask him about last night. At first she was just content to look around the room at all of the fine things. She had to admit she'd never seen such beautiful decorations in her life. Her father was a good artist, but he couldn't do everything. Carving, or weaving, or gilding, were arts all their own, skills that each took a lifetime to hone.

Eventually, however, she grew bored. So she decided to challenge herself by trying to recall some of her favorite bits of Shakespeare. Père Robert had only a few of the plays, but she'd read A Midsummer Night's Dream so many times she was sure she could remember some of the better soliloquies. So she was startled in the middle of Helena's complaint that the man she loved was in love with her best friend when another, much deeper voice joined her own.

"Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,

And therefore is wingèd Cupid painted blind."

He'd even pronounced the word 'wing-ed' with the right emphasis to make the line flow.

Belle looked up to see the Beast was awake and looking at her. "You know Shakespeare?" she blurted.

He actually rolled his eyes. "I had an expensive education."

Belle had forgotten for a moment that not only was he a man beneath the curse, but he was also a prince. Of course he'd had the best education money could buy. Undeterred, she admitted, "Romeo and Juliet's my favorite, actually."

This time he snorted gracelessly. "Of course it is."

"Why do you say that?" Belle demanded, offended by his open disdain for something she loved.

"All that moaning and groaning about love. Silly teenagers mooning." He made a terrible face. "Why bother then there are so many better things to read?"

"Like what?" asked Belle, intrigued in spite of her indignation. Perhaps he did have more books than Père Robert's little treasure trove of seven or eight tucked away in this huge castle somewhere. After all, those expensive tutors must have had something to educate him with.

"Give me a few minutes and I'll show you," he said. To her surprise, he swung his legs out of bed.

"Are you sure you should—" she started, rising as well.

"I feel fine," he snapped. She recoiled, and he actually looked apologetic. "Well, not fine, precisely, but I believe I'm up for a trip to the library. It isn't far. And it will be worth it."

Belle wasn't sure what to make of that. She also wasn't sure what to make of the garment the Beast drew out of a nearby wardrobe (not a talking one, to her relief): a banyan that looked exactly like the one the young man in her dream had worn, just on a larger scale to fit his massive frame. In their brief spat about Shakespeare, she'd forgotten her original mission in wanting to talk to the Beast about their possibly shared dream.

The Beast saw her looking. He actually looked a little relieved. "I hoped you might recognize this."

"So it is real. We're sharing dreams, somehow. And you look like…" she hesitated, "your former self," was what she finally decided on. "Why?"

"Who knows?" He shrugged, and, exactly as in the dream, winced as his injured shoulder pulled. "I've long since given up trying to figure out how and why magic works the way it does. And it must be magic, unless you have some sort of psychic gift you hadn't mentioned that has allowed us to share minds while we sleep. At this point I think nothing you could tell me about yourself would surprise me."

"No."

"Well, then, come on. No use worrying about it at the moment." He set off slowly out of the room. Belle trailed after him, completely unaware of the wonder that awaited her in the library.

That night in the dream they appeared in the room in question. Belle had to take another tour of it, occasionally stopping to run her fingers over the books and hop up and down on her heels in sheer excitement. The Beast in his prince form followed her, clearly enjoying her delight.

This time he wore the comfortable clothes and banyan again, but his hair was neatly combed and pulled back from his face. Nothing elaborate, but the style added dignity to his otherwise casual appearance.

In fact, her previous encounters with his human form hadn't really done justice to just how good-looking this young man was—the unkempt blond hair in the face had concealed most of his features. The eyes of course were a standout, but everything else about him was pleasing to look upon as well. He stood some inches taller than she, and from what little she could determine through his clothes he was well-built. He had low brows with just a hint of a sardonic tilt to them, a high forehead, a straight nose, and a jawline that just balanced between grace and strength. When he smiled, as he was doing now, his eyes sparkled in a way that invited the viewer to join the joke. His front teeth, she saw, were just the tiniest bit uneven, but this small flaw somehow served to enhance his attractiveness by making him attainable rather than inhumanly beautiful.

Like Gaston, he had every reason to be arrogant about his looks. And yet, he wasn't. Perhaps a previous incarnation of this prince had once been, but the years as a Beast had apparently cured him of thinking overmuch about his appearance. He seemed more to enjoy the mere fact of his humanity in this strange dream-country than what his human self actually looked like. There were mirrors and polished surfaces scattered all around, yet he seemed not interested in any of them. Unlike Gaston, who looked at his own reflection far more than was healthy, in Belle's opinion.

The Prince paused to pull a book off the shelf to examine it. He made a small pleased noise that sounded a great deal like the Beast as he leafed through its pages. "I can't tell you how refreshing it is to simply pick up a book and not have to worry about my claws ripping it apart," he said when she looked at him. "Even if this isn't real, it's real enough to remind me what it was like." He replaced the book, saw the look on her face and turned angrily. Him stalking away wasn't quite as impressive as it was in Beast form, but it was still intimidating.

Belle steeled herself and went after him. "Wait. Wait. I'm sorry."

He stopped, and leaned against the nearest shelf, still facing away from her. "I don't need your pity," he snapped. "My life in the waking world is what it is."

"I know. And I'm sorry. Sometimes I can't help it. The situation is just so sad, for all of you. I wish I could do something."

He winced—she could see his shoulders tense. "Fishing for more information on how to break the curse won't help your cause, either," he said, but he did turn around to look at her and managed a small chuckle in spite of himself. "Since it seems we have some time on our hands before we rejoin the conscious world, what shall we look at first?" he asked.

Belle, eager to seize the change of subject, took the hand attached to the good arm and dragged him off.

It went like that for the next several days. They would spend most of their waking hours together, go to bed, dream normally, and then in the final dream of the night pick up wherever they had left off during the day, only with the Beast in human rather than animal form. It grew easier and easier to simply accept that they were two different versions of the same man. He behaved not a bit differently awake or asleep. She even noticed with mild amusement that the slightly uneven front teeth carried over from human form to animal.

They argued, they laughed, they had their awkward moments, and even some sorrowful ones, but Belle found she enjoyed his company more than she'd ever imagined. He was her intellectual equal and only his greater breadth of reading gave him an edge in their discussions. In maths and calculations, however, she had him beat by a mile. She helped him walk through some of his astronomy texts on the movement of the heavens, and he claimed she made it far easier to understand than his tutor ever had and the man was supposed to have been one of the best in the field. Belle had flushed with pleasure.

She was starting to get uncomfortable frissions of attraction in his presence—and it seemed not to matter which form he wore. She liked him, for who he was, and he seemed to like her in equal measure. He never once told her she was beautiful, as other men did, though she caught occasional longing looks from him when he thought she wasn't paying attention. He never tried to touch her without her permission. He never, ever tried to kiss her, not even at night in human form. Any other young man she'd ever met would have made at least an attempt by now—in her experience boys thought they could do anything they liked to girls, and girls could only take it in silence because it would damage their reputations or the boy would try to hurt them if they complained. This went double for him, since he was a prince and clearly used to getting his own way, and they were technically unchaperoned for much of their time together. It wasn't as if he had parents to scold him about propriety, or she a father to defend her honor. Such thoughts never seemed to occur to him, though Belle was fairly certain he was as attracted to her as she to him. His restraint when he could easily have taken advantage only made her like him more, and appreciate how different he was from all the others in the way he treated her.

There was the problem that she was technically his prisoner. In a way, she really didn't have a choice but to spend time with him, much as she enjoyed it. The thought was often there, in the back of her mind, spoiling some of her pleasure in his presence. She did her best to ignore it. Was it wrong of her to enjoy something she had little choice about anyway?

She did soothe herself with the knowledge that if she wanted to be left alone, he respected it. He stayed away for a whole afternoon when she wanted to read a book by herself, though he asked her about it that night. Belle was a little embarrassed to admit she'd been reading Rousseau's Julie, which had some erotic tones to it mixed in with the philosophy. Instead of looking scandalized, he'd been impressed and started peppering her with questions about her opinions on it. Apparently his literature tutor hadn't allowed him to read it when he was younger—he'd read it after the transformation, and had had no one to discuss it with.

"If you liked that, try Ovid's Metamorphoses," he recommended. "I'm certain there's a French translation around here somewhere. The original is in Greek, of course." He quirked his mouth slyly at her, a reminder of the first small joke they'd shared.

Belle laughed, and they started to hunt for the new book.

The locations of their nighttime meetings often changed, as did what they were wearing. Their clothes didn't always correspond to what they'd had on during the day, though their individual styles did come to sort of a happy medium in terms of being beautiful and well made, but also functional rather than restrictive. After the first few nights Belle didn't find herself in her battered old blue dress again, nor did she see the overfine riding attire on the Prince.

Sometimes they appeared in the parlor, in the dining room, in the gardens, or even on the hilltop overlooking the village and the castle again. Once they even appeared in the village chapel—Belle had been telling the Beast about Père Robert earlier that day. She took the Prince to see the small, lovingly cared for shelf of books from which she used to borrow.

Surprisingly, he did not say anything derisive. He ran a hand reverently over their worn tops.

Belle stood looking at his silhouette. It was so dark she could barely make him out; a few guttering candles on the altar and the moon coming in the windows was all the light to be had. His hair was loose again rather than tied back. It turned him into an ambiguous, shadowy shape, reminding her of their very first meeting where he'd dodged from her view until she forced him into the meager candlelight. In this state, he could be either man or beast—and it didn't matter to her.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He froze for a long, dreadful moment. She could see him start to turn towards her, then pause and turn away instead. One fist balanced against the chapel's thick wall, while the other hand covered his human face. Even with his back to her she could see his head bow as he visibly struggled with her question.

"I can't," he finally said. "It's not mine anymore. It belongs to a man who doesn't exist."

"But you do exist," Belle insisted. "I see you every night."

"Don't fool yourself, Belle. This is an illusion, nothing more. A fantasy. The Beast is far more real than anything that exists in this place. And unless the curse is broken, it's all I'll ever be."

"But—"

"Don't," he said harshly, sounding more like the Beast than she'd ever heard from his human form. "Don't ask this of me. The curse becomes permanent in less than a week, and then the man with that name vanishes forever. Don't make it more painful than it already is."

Belle bit her lip to keep another protest from bubbling up. And she faithfully did not ask again, nor so much as hint at the question. But she did go out of her way to avoid calling him 'Beast' no matter whether it was day or night.

She wondered whether he was right, whether after the curse was permanent he'd look like the Beast in their dreams instead of his human shape. It seemed cruel to taunt him with what could never be, if he were to only have his true shape in a dreamland. Or perhaps their shared dreams might not continue at all. Many things would change, she'd been given to understand, besides the loss of hope of everything being restored to its rightful form. The servants would become objects completely. The castle itself might even crumble, given the way it lost bits of itself whenever a petal fell from the enchanted rose. Belle wasn't sure she wanted to be around for that. But what choice did she have? She'd promised to stay.

It hurt her heart to think of all of this magnificence, and the good, kindhearted people within it, vanishing forever. But despite being as observant as possible she still hadn't managed even an inkling of how to break the curse. Just that the greatest burden of it seemed to fall on the Beast himself—he had something specific he had to do, a task he had to accomplish, that would in some way make up for turning down the Enchantress's rose. From reading fairy tales—the closest equivalent to this situation her mind could come up with—Belle knew that such tasks were often supposed to sound impossible and sometimes appeared not to have anything to do with the original offense until the task was complete and it turned out to have been a relevant object lesson the entire time. Certainly being cursed to be a monster had taught the arrogant prince humility, but if that was all that needed learning everyone would have been human again long ago. No, there was something else, something that was so difficult he hadn't managed to do it even as the curse's deadline loomed.

She was surprised when he suggested a formal dance. She surprised herself by saying yes. The entire castle went into a tizzy preparing for it. Belle had been reluctant to wear yellow when the idea was first brought up, but she had to admit the end result was beyond her wildest dreams. Madame even magically pulled some of the gilt from the room décor as a final touch, so the dress glittered just subtly in the candlelight. Belle had never felt so lovely. The look on the Beast's face when he caught sight of her caused her heart to pound unevenly and her palms to grow slightly damp.

He looked very fine as well. The gold trim on his deep blue velvet coat even went with her dress exactly as if planned. Which, Belle thought, knowing the servants, it might have been. His mane had been trimmed and neatly pulled back. Looking at him, she could see both aspects of the man she knew contained in the person she saw before her—refined and well-educated Prince, intimidating but gentle Beast.

Being in his arms was frightening and exhilarating all at once. He was a good lead despite the difference in their sizes; Belle felt as if she were floating even when he led her through figures she'd never done before. He had the delicate art of how to suggest the next step without actually forcing her to go anywhere down to perfection, and she always felt as if she kept her own balance instead of being flung around despite how physically strong she knew he was. She wasn't frightened of him, oh no.

She was frightened of how this was making her feel.

Certainly, she'd been feeling attraction to him, but she'd been able to control it or dismiss it. Here, she knew her emotions were plainly revealed on her face. Her nerves and uncertainty, yes, but also her growing affection. She was enjoying being held by him far too much for her comfort. The feeling welling up inside her was starting to move beyond friendship and into something much deeper. Much more intimate.

It was all so confusing. She couldn't sort anything out in her head, for perhaps the first time ever. Her mind was still spinning when he led her out onto the balcony. After some small talk about dancing, he seemed to steel himself to bring up an uncomfortable subject.

"Belle…I know it's too much to hope that you might feel affection for a creature like me."

Her stomach dropped a little; this followed her own train of thoughts far too closely. Had her heart been on her sleeve that much? Still, honesty compelled her to say, trying to be casual, "I don't know about that."

His face lit. "Then…do you think you could be happy here?"

She had a frightening intuition that she knew where this line of thought might be leading. She wasn't ready, she didn't want to consider it. So instead, she said, "Can anybody really be happy if they aren't free?" What she was thinking, but didn't say aloud because despite its kernel of truth it was borderline cruel, was: You should know that better than anyone.

He got the message, however, and did not pursue the subject.

-0-0-0-

Agathe pursed her lips as she watched the scene unfold. She had known that Belle realizing her feelings for the Beast-Prince were turning to love after dancing with him was a long shot, but still, she had had some small hope. Now, things were going to come down to the wire. And were probably going to be a great deal more painful for all involved. Still, iron was forged through fire, and so this budding relationship would be tempered and tested as well. This wasn't an ideal situation, certainly not what she'd imagined when she first cast the curse, but Agathe still maintained that if she plucked just the right strings at the right time, she could nudge things where they needed to be. Indeed, she thought wryly, it wasn't all that different from leading in a dance. Except she had multiple partners to juggle simultaneously.

Speaking of which, it was time to get her hands dirty. She quietly slipped down into the main room of the tavern where she knew Maurice had gone to confront his would-be murderer, Gaston. Agathe had snuck upstairs to check the fireplace in one of the empty guest rooms, but she knew she needed to be on hand when things really started to heat up between the two men. The spiral of events from there would determine a great many peoples' fates this night.

-0-0-0-

He'd let her go. Belle was still having some trouble wrapping her mind around it. Despite the changes she'd witnessed in him over the course of their acquaintance, for some reason she hadn't imagined they went this deep. At the beginning, she'd thought if nothing else through sheer stubborn pride he'd never release her. And yet tonight he hadn't hesitated to tell her to go when her father was in trouble.

The thought kept her warm as she galloped away through the perpetual snow surrounding the castle. Yet she couldn't shake away the look on his face as she left. The sense that there was something he'd wanted to say but restrained himself. Belle knew that the curse was less than a day away from being permanent—perhaps that was the reason. She blocked from her mind all thoughts of never talking to the servants again, even though they'd become her friends. She couldn't afford to think about that right now. She had to rescue her Papa.

As Phillippe lengthened his stride when they burst out of the treeline and towards the distant lights of the village, Belle incongruously wondered whether she'd dream of the Prince tonight, possibly in the ballroom dressed in a scaled-down version of his finery. Almost treacherously, she hoped so. Perhaps then they'd get a chance to say their real goodbyes. She already knew she'd left important things unfinished at the castle. Her heart squeezed at the thought, but she forced the pain away.

She still wore the yellow dress. It became almost a talisman, keeping the Beast close as she confronted Gaston. She felt as though she were borrowing some of the Beast's strength, and the cultivated royal assurance he could pull around himself like a cloak when he wanted to. Unfortunately it didn't have the desired effect; indeed her defiance only seemed to enflame Gaston all the more. Belle and Maurice found themselves locked in the cart of the maison des lunes while Gaston led the villagers to kill the Beast.

-0-0-0-

Agathe hesitated, but in the end she decided to follow the villagers to the castle rather than release Belle and Maurice. They were capable of getting out on their own. More important to be on hand to prevent any real tragedies when the villagers clashed unknowingly with their old friends and families in the form of the castle's transformed servants.

-0-0-0-

Belle wondered at her own determination. She was riding just as hard back to the castle as she'd ridden away from it a short time ago, driven by startlingly similar emotions. She had to save someone she cared for deeply. If the Beast were killed because of her, she'd never forgive herself. There was too much she still wanted to say to him. She found she was almost berating the Belle from earlier in the evening, calling her all kinds of fool for thinking she could just leave with things the way they were between them. And what? Walk back into her humdrum life in the village with her father, when the Beast-Prince had shown her what it was really like when someone accepted, and yes, adored her for who she was, who encouraged her and gave her the adventure and mutual companionship she'd always craved? What did it matter what shape he wore? He'd let her go to make her own choices. Well, she was making one now: to go back to him.

Please, she prayed silently as she rode, Please let me get there in time. I have to save him. I have to tell him...

Tell him what?

Belle just spurred Philippe faster.

She was almost too late. The main fight to repel the villagers from the castle was over, but Gaston was still stalking the Beast across the tallest towers. Belle wasn't sure how either of them was still alive, between the rain making the slate roofs slick and the fact that the towers were collapsing beneath them as the curse's deadline ticked ever nearer.

She leapt out after them, heedless of her own danger. She followed them across the towers, trying to always keep them in view while still staying to the most stable parts of the structures. Still, she was forced to jump across cracking architecture to manage even that very simple task. She came around a corner only to find Gaston about to club the Beast down.

"No!" she screamed.

The Beast seemed to take heart in hearing her. He grabbed the club as it came down. In an instant he had the human soldier off his feet and was actually dangling him off the roof.

Belle smothered a horrified gasp. As much as she hated Gaston for hurting Maurice and the Beast, she knew she didn't want to watch the Beast become a cold-blooded murderer before her eyes. Then his humanity would be truly lost forever, no matter what the rose downstairs said. She almost looked away.

There was a drawn-out pause. Then, to Belle's astonishment, the Beast brought Gaston back to safety. He might have said something, but it was so low that Belle couldn't hear it. He looked up at her. They held one another's gaze for a long moment. Then the Beast's eyes flicked downward, and she could see he was gauging the jump to where she stood.

"Don't!" she pleaded. "It's too far!"

He took a running start and leapt. He almost didn't make it, but his paws caught and he scrambled up to meet her. "You came back," he said.

A crack sounded from behind them. The Beast let out a horrible cry of pain and was thrown sideways. Belle looked across to see Gaston pointing his hunting rifle at them. Already he was reloading like the skilled fighter he was.

Belle tried to pull the Beast up and to safety inside, but he was far too heavy. Another crack, and the Beast was knocked fully off the balcony and skidded to a halt in the West Wing, next to the bell jar with the dying rose.

Suddenly, the entire parapet where Gaston stood crumbled away beneath him with a deafening roar. Gaston had chosen to shoot the Beast a second time rather than get himself to safety, Belle realized. With a terrified scream that Belle knew she'd hear echoes of in her mind for years to come, Gaston plummeted down and out of sight.

Belle herself bent over the Beast. He was still breathing, but the sounds were growing more labored with each passing second.

"You came back," he mumbled.

"Of course I came back. I'll never leave you again." Belle found her voice already choked up with tears that begged to be shed.

He smiled weakly. "I'm afraid it's my turn to leave."

"Don't talk like that. We're together now, everything's going to be fine. You'll see." She took his paw and held it up to her face.

"At least...I got to see you...one last time." His blue eyes, no laughter in them now, stayed fastened on her face even as they slid out of focus. One last long breath out, and he was gone.

"No...please," Belle pleaded. She clutched at his paw, but there was no longer any strength in it. It seemed almost boneless, and too heavy. Just a few hours ago it had led her around the dance floor with assurance. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. She still hadn't said any of the things she'd rehearsed on the frantic ride here. It was too late. "Come back!" she wailed. She buried her face in his chest and began to sob. "Come back, please!"

There was no response. Belle was almost tempted to shake him, little good as it would do. He wasn't sleeping, and that wasn't fever clouding his eyes. She'd never see him again. Never ask him for a book recommendation, never throw a snowball, never feel the warmth of his regard. Never dance with him again.

"Please, don't leave me," she begged, half-muffled into his shirt. An almost physical pain began to build in her chest; dully she wondered if this is what it felt like when your heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Pulling herself up with monumental effort, she kissed his dear, expressionless face, ignoring the fur covering it. "I love you."

-0-0-0-

It was enough, Agathe knew. Even though the last rose petal had fallen less than a minute before, the words had finally been spoken aloud. Those words alone combined with the raw power she'd put into the rose at the very beginning of the curse had the strength to reverse death itself, to upend everything.

Or put everything to rights, in this case. Agathe raised a hand towards the rose and channeled her magic through it. The glass surrounding it shattered and turned golden, then swirled in a stream over the still body on the floor. Agathe watched for a moment to make certain all was well, then turned away to go before either of the room's occupants noticed anything other than each other. She smiled. It had all come out right in the end, and these two would be even stronger for it.

-0-0-0-

Belle thought for a moment the Beast had taken a breath from beneath her. She lifted her head to check and was startled to find his body bathed in golden light and rising from the ground. She scrambled away as he rose higher. Ribbons of gold dust streamed around him, and as they did, he began to change. His paws shrank and became hands and feet. His tail vanished, the fur faded away, the horns and fangs dissolved. His form grew smaller, and last of all his face shifted, the lines blurring slightly until the features were those of the Prince she'd only seen in her dreams until now.

The magic gently placed him back on his feet. He was facing away from her, but at some point the power that had changed him must also have returned his stolen breath because he didn't collapse as the golden light surrounding him faded. Instead he brought his hands up to stare at them. Belle took a few steps forward, astounded. There wasn't even any blood or holes in his shirt, and she knew Gaston had shot him at least twice. He was still wearing the same clothes, but they too had shrunk to fit his new frame.

The young man touched his chest briefly, as if checking to feel his beating heart, or perhaps testing how much smaller his body was, then finally turned to look at her. Belle stopped in her tracks. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't really allowed herself to believe he might be alive and well until she saw those eyes. No longer blank and empty, they sparkled with joy and disbelief.

He held still, breathing a little heavily. Belle slowly approached. She knew him, he looked exactly the same as he had in her dreams, but she was certain deep down this was no dream. Everything about him looked more real, more solid somehow. She put up a hand to stroke his cheek. His skin was smooth and she felt the light scratch of stubble beneath her fingers.

Their eyes met, and held. Everything she'd wanted to say to him came rushing back in an instant, and was forgotten just as quickly. All she could manage was a delighted laugh. He was real, and he was here, returned to stand before her in human form. Even the slight unevenness of his front teeth seemed like a small miracle to rejoice over—she'd never considered how much she would miss such a silly detail about the man she loved.

One of his hands came up and gently stroked her hair. He seemed just as stunned by this turn of events as she. Mesmerized by the blue of his eyes, she held still as he leaned in, holding his gaze until the last moment when she finally shut her eyes and closed that final distance between them. Their lips gently met, still tentative, still half-afraid this would turn out to be another dream.

His hands slid down to grasp her shoulders and pull her slightly closer. She responded by putting her palms lightly against his chest. He was human all right, every bit of him. She could feel skin beneath his loose shirt instead of coarse fur.

Bright sunlight abruptly streamed in from the open balcony. It lit up the whole room and warmed the two of them. It was also distracting enough that they broke their kiss, to Belle's disappointment. They glanced at the window, and then back at each other. Simultaneously they crushed together in an enormous hug. "Please don't ever leave me again," they said at the same time. They laughed, though both sounds were weak with relief.

"Is this real?" he murmured, almost to himself. "Or is this heaven?"

In response, Belle reached up impulsively and pinched his forearm.

"Ouch!" he shouted, hopping away from her, shaking the offended limb. They stared at one another again.

"I don't think heaven would hurt," Belle offered.

He glared at her, still balefully shaking out his arm with all the dignity of an insulted cat—or a Prince who isn't used to people deliberately hurting him.

"Oh, don't be such a child. I didn't pinch you all that hard," Belle said. In response, he pulled her in for another kiss, this one much more passionate. Belle found she couldn't object.

Eventually other thoughts did interrupt their blissful interlude. "The curse…is it broken at last?" Belle asked. The Prince took her hand and led her to the balcony. Not only had the sun emerged, but all of the crumbled towers had been restored. The strange winter that had surrounded the castle and its lands had faded away, and a warm wind stirred their loose hair. Everywhere they could see was green and growing. It truly felt like summer once again.

"Enough of an answer for you?" he said.

Belle glanced at the man at her side. He was just as handsome in daylight as by candlelight. His hair, she noted, was much shorter than it had been in their dreams. Now it barely brushed his collarbones instead of hanging down to his shoulder blades. It took her a moment to realize why: the Beast had had his mane trimmed in anticipation of the dance last night. The change had carried over to his human form.

"What was the key to the curse?" she asked.

He turned fully to face her and put his hands around her shoulders again. "You," he said.

"What?" Belle blinked. "Me? Then why wouldn't you—"

"The conditions of the curse were that I had to learn to love another, and earn her love in return before the rose fully wilted."

"I…oh. Oh!"

"Now you understand why none of us could tell you how to break the curse. We wanted to, believe me." His eyes searched hers, a little pleading.

Belle felt on one hand that she should be angry. On the other, she did understand. If she'd known, it would have affected everything.

"So…you love me?" she ventured.

He smiled, a little rueful embarrassment on his face. "Of course. More than anything. Could you doubt it?"

"Well, no, considering the circumstances." She glanced over the balcony again at the restored view.

"So…you love me?" he asked, turning her question back on her.

"Yes. Yes, I do. Never doubt it."

He kissed her again, soft and tender this time. A kiss that felt like the forerunner of many to come. When this one ended, he took her hand and led her inside. "Come. Let's check on the others."

"The others!" Belle had forgotten that the end of the curse would mean the servants were restored as well. They must be ecstatic.

The pair rushed from the room and started through the maze of corridors towards the entrance hall. Echoes of happy voices started to reach them. As they reached the grand staircase, however, something occurred to Belle. She slowed. The Prince looked back, curious at her hesitation.

"Before we go out and everything starts to rush by, can you answer me one question?" she asked.

The Prince tilted his head slightly, regarding her. A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Adam. Prince Adam Alexandre Robert de Chaumont, if you want to know the whole of it. Though to tell the truth it seems a bit…pretentious at the moment." His downward glance took in his unadorned clothes and bare feet, and that she stood only in her linen undergarments, having discarded the yellow dress in the village so that she could ride hard back to the castle.

Once again he'd known what she wanted to ask before the words left her lips. Belle grinned at him. "Bonjour, Monsieur Adam. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

He laughed. "And it's a pleasure to make yours, Mademoiselle Belle." He shifted his grip on her hand so that he could brush a kiss to her knuckles. A shiver ran down her spine at the touch of his lips. His eyes held hers for a long moment, lit with humor and promise. "Shall we?"

-0-0-0-

That night as they slept, they found themselves in the ballroom. Belle stood at one end, dressed once again in her yellow gown. At the other stood the Beast in his dark blue velvet. Belle hadn't been sure she'd ever see this form of him again. Lifting her skirts, she rushed forward. He blinked in surprise at her enthusiasm, and then she was embracing him, hard.

A wave of warmth rolled off of him, and he was once again briefly bathed in golden light, though no floating happened this time. In her arms, he shrank and became the Prince, dressed in a smaller version of the blue coat. He smiled down at her, but she saw the confusion on his face.

"You still don't understand," she said. "It's you I love, Adam. I would have loved you had you been trapped as a Beast forever. Did you think I loved the human prince I saw in my dreams, but not the Beast I knew by day?"

"I…well, something like that," he admitted. "At least, that's what I always secretly feared. That you'd grown attached to the human me, when I might never be able to be that man for you. Even if you'd come to care for the Beast, you might be always disappointed, waiting for me to become something else."

"You were always the same man. After awhile your different aspects stopped mattering. You were just…you."

"Oh, Belle. You are the most incredible woman I've ever met." His hands tangled in her carefully styled hair, mussing it as he kissed her. Then he swept her up bodily from the floor and spun her around, all without breaking the kiss. Belle flung her arms around his neck and held on.

As he set her back on her feet, a flash of light from the other side of the room distracted them. They turned to see a glowing woman materialize there. It was hard to make out much about her.

Adam pushed Belle behind him and stood as a protective barrier between her and the woman. Peering around him, Belle realized that this must be the Enchantress herself.

The three stared at one another. Belle hardly dared to breathe, and she could see Adam shaking. Her heart caught as she realized he was facing down his personal nightmare come to life, for her. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and stepped up beside him. Whatever was coming, they would face it together.

The Enchantress smiled. From within her too-bright halo of light, she seemed to nod. Adam swallowed hard, and nodded back. If anything else passed between them, some flash of understanding, Belle wasn't part of it. She felt Adam's tight shoulders relax beneath her hand, ever so slightly.

Belle did get the overwhelming sense that there would be no more dreams of this type. They were from the Enchantress, somehow, a tool she'd used to bring them closer together, and now that the task was accomplished they weren't needed any longer. If it had been the Enchantress's intention that the curse be broken all along, then Belle had to conclude she couldn't be all bad. Like the curses in fairy tales, it had ended up being a lesson after all, to both Belle and Adam.

The Enchantress slowly faded from view, her light dimming until the far side of the ballroom was empty again. The ballroom itself faded immediately afterwards. Belle blinked...and opened her eyes on the real world. She pushed herself up, the bedcovers falling away. Bright sunshine was streaming through the large windows in her bedroom, which were open for the first time to catch a warm breeze still fragrant from the gardens below instead of shuttered against the perpetual winter.

Propped up in a chair across the room, where he'd fallen asleep when by mutual agreement they hadn't wanted to let each other out of their sight, Adam also sat up. The blanket draped over him slid to his lap as he stretched and rubbed his eyes. They looked at each other and smiled at the same time.

They also both jumped at the same time as Mrs. Potts bustled in pushing a tray. Chip trailed right behind her. Adam nearly fell out of the chair but quickly regained his dignity. Draping the blanket around his shoulders like a cloak, he stood and strode over to chivalrously help Belle out of bed.

"Good morning, dearies!" said Mrs. Potts, beaming at the two of them. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Potts," returned Adam, combing his fingers through his hair to get it out of his eyes. "And yes, it is."

"I thought you might fancy a spot of tea, and some scones. Nothing look a good start to the first day of our new lives! Just call if you want anything else. The kitchen is all in a mess, what with everyone tripping over everyone else since we're not used to being this size, but we'll get the hang of it again soon, never you worry."

"I'm sure you will," said Belle, exchanging a look with Adam that said It must be utter chaos down there. Best to make ourselves scarce. "Thank you for bringing up breakfast," she added aloud. "I think we'll probably be in the library for most of the day." Adam nodded agreement.

"I'll tell Cogsworth and your father, in case they need to find you for anything," said Mrs. Potts. With a cheerful nod, she bustled out again.

Chip gave a shy wave as they departed. Belle waved back. As they made their way down the hallway, Belle heard the boy pipe cheerfully, "Are they gonna live happily ever after, Mama?"

"Of course, my dear, of course," his mother replied.

Belle and Adam exchanged grins. "Is he right?" Adam asked, taking her hand and kissing it. "Are we going to live happily ever after?"

"Do you know, I think we might have a very good chance," Belle answered. "We'll have to start working on that. In the meantime, what do you want to read today?"

-0-0-0-

Agathe glanced back over her shoulder as she slid from the castle gardens. She smiled at the window where she knew a man was pouring the woman he loved a cup of tea while they plotted their next adventure in the library. The Enchantress paused just long enough to pluck a red rose from a bower and tuck it into her belt before pulling her hood over her head and disappearing into the green, summery woods.

Author's Note: This started as a way to give more depth and emotion to the ending of the movie, which I felt it could have used more of. I got the amazement at the Prince's transformation into a human, but not the relief from either of them at the return of the love of their lives after believing them lost forever. And then I started thinking...I've always wanted to try writing a Beauty and the Beast fic that included an element of the original story that I'm fond of but is tricky to pull off. In La Belle et La Bête, Beauty dreams at night of a handsome prince who pleads with her to find him. Beauty spends much of her wanderings in the Beast's castle trying to find where he might be hidden; of course what she doesn't realize until the curse is broken that it's the Beast in his human form. It's a weird dynamic in which the Beast is sort of a rival to himself for Beauty's affections, rather than having an external foil like Disney's Gaston or Cocteau's Avenant. I decided to use the concept and apply it to the 2017 movie, but because Belle is so smart it didn't make sense for her not to figure out that the Beast and this guy she dreams about who acts suspiciously like him are one and the same, especially since in this version she explicitly knows about the curse.

I really liked the 2017 movie's choice to have the Enchantress more involved. Heck, in this version she breaks her own deadline to bring the Prince back even though Belle's declaration came seconds too late. But her greater involvement and her appearance as an ordinary woman in the village also brings up some intriguing questions about her backstory and motives. I didn't want to delve into that too deeply and move the focus of the story off of Belle and the Beast—though I do have a headcanon where her father died because of some cruel edict or tax the Prince implemented, and the curse was at least in part motivated by revenge that she regretted later—but I did want to explore her a bit more. Her appearance in the final dream is based off a conversation I had with Storyteller Knight, my partner in crime for writing, where she remarked she'd have liked to see the Enchantress one more time to make it clear to the Prince her intentions had been his welfare all along even though she picked a pretty harsh way to teach him a lesson.

Yes, to those of you who have read my previous works, I gave in on the Adam thing, because I don't want a bunch of reviews asking me if I knew the Prince's official name is Adam. It isn't (it's not in either movie so I don't consider it canon), but enough people think it is that I feel like that would become the focus of peoples' reviews rather than talking about the story itself. So I threw up my proverbial hands and used it.

SamoaPhoenix9