A Trip Away, and a Carriage Ride

...

A few years after the war. A few years before the movie timeline...

Lefou awoke at nearly midday, in the cramped hotel room in Le Mans. He squinted at the harsh glare of the springtime sun. Gaston had left early to meet with his General, and he hadn't even bothered to wake Lefou up to accompany him- to which he was grateful.

He still felt sick. His stomachache from last night had turned to a hangover headache. He waited for his friend, gazing out the window at the street filled with busy people in carriages. One of the men looked a bit like Monsieur Chasseur, but it probably wasn't. He hoped to God he would never see that man again. It was the reason why he resisted the urge to leave the room and wander the street in search of a bakery to buy croissants.

Finally, at around noon, Gaston burst into the door. "Lefou! What are you doing moping around on such a fine day as this? Look, the sun is coming out!"

In a way, it had. Lefou looked up to his friend's face. The handsome and proud man was grinning from ear to ear, carrying bags of some kind. "Look what I just got! Two medals of honor that were due me from a long time ago!" He pulled two little boxes from the bag; the brass medals were securely wrapped in their cases.

"This one was from Rouen, and this one here-" he cradled the case in his hands lovingly- "is another memento from Strasbourg, when I led the second French advance. You remember that one well, Lefou. You still have the scar from it."

"Yes...I know," Lefou said.

"Strasbourg," Gaston said again, a beaming smile on his face in reminiscence. "Ahh...I still remember how I cleaned up that field. My musket and bayonet did my bidding with such ease! I can still smell the iron aroma of blood-" Gaston breathed in and out, his eyes closing for a moment. He opened them again.

"Think about it, Lefou!" he continued. "The province of Lorraine- and even our own beloved Alsace could have fallen into their hands if we hadn't fought our finest. Can you just imagine it, Lefou? A piece of our great nation cut off. We'd be speaking their language and serving their royals if not for my victories! And the widows in that town...mon dieu! The best I ever had. Last night's girls were kittens compared to those fine-"

"Ahem," Lefou cleared his throat, not caring to hear about the cries of lusty lionesses. "Gaston, don't you think we ought to check out of this place before we have to pay for a second night?"

"Ah, yes. It's past noon already, I lost track of time. Thank you." Gaston nodded to Lefou, and started randomly stuffing his clothes into his travel bag. "Oh- Lefou! I didn't show you what I bought from the gunsmith's store here! Look!"

Like a proud child on Christmas morning, Gaston pulled some more items from his shopping bag- a fine new long-barrel pistol, a musket with a detachable bayonet, and a dagger in a leather shield. He showed off each new 'toy,' explaining the weapons' uses and their value. Gaston pulled the shiny dagger out of its case and playfully mimed a stab, then drew the blade closely across his own neck, without actually touching it.

"Sharpest knife I've ever owned. Perfect for our next hunt!"

"Amazing!" Lefou said excitedly, his face forming a smile of enthusiasm. "I can't wait!" When Gaston was happy, his joy was infectious.

"Let's go out to the forest as soon as we return to Villeneuve!" Gaston said, putting his new dagger back into the shield with a snap.

"Of course!" Lefou agreed. He breathed a small sigh of relief as he watched his friend packing up for their departure home. Gaston didn't notice anything 'different' about Lefou today, or late last night. The man's thick-headed cluelessness about things unrelated to himself was truly a godsend sometimes.

The previous night, Lefou had lost his innocence, at last, at the age of twenty-four. Not with one of the inn's brothel girls- but with a man. The gentleman, who had only given his name as 'Monsieur Chasseur,' had sweet-talked Lefou, buying him glasses of champagne while Gaston was occupied with paid female company. The sophisticated man had apparently guessed Lefou's nature after he politely turned down the offer of a femme de la nuit. Lefou, tipsy and lonely, wanting to know what it felt like to be desired by another man who shared his problem, accompanied the stranger up to his room.

After the intoxicated encounter was over, the stranger proceeded to humiliate and insult him. He tossed coins at him for a 'wonderful evening.' Lefou felt ashamed and crushed, regretting the choice. After throwing up from the alcohol, he was reunited with a concerned Gaston in the bar room.

Gaston had cared for Lefou by giving him some ice water to drink and escorted him up to bed in their hotel room. There, the humiliated young man cried silently in his pillow while Gaston slept across from him, still unaware of his friend's ordeal. Lefou wouldn't dare tell him about it. He vowed never to give in to such a thing again.

...

'Le Duo,' as they still called themselves, casually walked the streets with their belongings over to the stagecoach depot. Lefou told Gaston he was famished, and so Gaston stopped to buy his best friend some cheese croissants. They soon boarded a coach headed east to Villeneuve. As they began their journey, Gaston talked and talked about his meeting with the General, and how he had praised him for his heroic deeds in battle.

"It angers me that we're at peace, Lefou. I need another war! I need adventure. I want those days back again, where I can lead my squad in victory, and vanquish men once more- rather than stags or foxes. Don't you agree?"

Lefou was gazing out the window, half listening. He was still hurting and angry over what happened to him with that stranger last night. He caught Gaston's question, and thought for a moment about whether he should just say 'Yes, Gaston!' or offer his own, differing opinion. Since Gaston was in his happy mood today, Lefou decided to go with Option Number Two.

"If it involves a musket ball tearing into my hip again- or worse- I'm not terribly eager about the idea, Gaston," he replied.

Gaston laughed, as expected. "Ah, Lefou! You're getting soft now." He scooted closer to him and threw his arm merrily around his shoulder. "War is good for men. It culls out the excess population of losers on all sides of the conflict. Just like the herd of deer in the forest. The strong bucks who survive get older and grow a handsome, fourteen-point rack of antlers. The does go crazy for them. They're the winners! The losers let themselves die, like fools. They won't get to pass on their genes. Which do you want to be?"

Gaston smiled contentedly and pulled Lefou to himself a little closer, in a fraternal half-hug. "A fine, strong buck like me, or dead in a stew?"

"I would have to go with the first option, no doubt," Lefou replied.

The warmth of Gaston's show of camaraderie caused a flush to form on Lefou's cheeks. Gaston was teasing, as always, but his words were symbolic in a way. They carried a gentle warning to them, a caution that Gaston would only verbalize in a parable of sorts. 'Be a normal man,' it translated as. He would try. He'd keep in control from now on, and not show his nature 'too much.'

Gaston beamed down at him, glad he got the answer right. He pat Lefou's leg twice with his hand in a warm, yet oddly Gaston-ish, show of affection.

"Good! Now, speaking of passing on my genes, I'm still thinking of a future wife on the horizon. I'm looking forward to getting back home. Have you seen the new girl in town? She's quite a beauty, isn't she?" Gaston said, his eyes ablaze as he gazed at a point just above Lefou's head, likely picturing this girl in his mind's eye.

"I'm not sure who you're talking about, Gaston."

"I'm wondering if she might be worth my notice. She's a young, little brunette girl. Probably not even twenty yet. She had her nose in a book."

"Gaston, isn't that a little, um, presumptuous to go from 'seeing a new brunette girl in town' to thinking 'future wife'?" Lefou asked him jokingly, making little 'quote' symbols with his fingers.

"Not if you're ME," Gaston replied with a raise of his eyebrows. His right leg in the coach seat was pressed next to Lefou's left one, and it felt so firm and strong and comfortable. Lefou wished this coach ride, with only Gaston for company and no one else, would never end.

He watched Gaston take out his new dagger and play with it for a while, drawing the blade across his fingers and turning it over and over again. He knew that the habit meant that either he was angry and frustrated, or he had pent-up, nervous energy. He decided that Gaston was full of nervous energy at the moment, because his mood today was purely one-hundred-percent positive. There had been not even one single 'flare-up' of anger today.

Perhaps Gaston needed to go visit brothel girls more often? Or be presented with more medals of honor?

Lefou began to wonder what Gaston would do if he found out about the stranger, M. Chasseur, and what happened between them. Would he be ashamed of him? Would he deem Lefou not worthy to be his best friend anymore? No, he couldn't. He was his closest childhood friend. Gaston was not as ignorant as he seemed to be. He must have known about his nature, but never mentioned it or brought it up. Except for those little hints of caution, such as his 'stag deer' analogy.

After all, there was the whole Private Cloutier thing that happened years before, at the war camp in Strasbourg. Gaston must have sensed something between Lefou and Denis Cloutier. Because why else would he single Cloutier out to be transferred, when other men with injuries had volunteered?

Lefou decided that Gaston knew, but didn't care, and that bringing it up would be inconvenient for both Gaston's ego and- Lefou was comforted by this notion- his own safety. Gaston wanted to protect him. That's why he transferred Cloutier. He got rid of him so that the fellow would be out of Lefou's life, before he could lead him into situations that could lead to either lynching or the madhouse for both young soldiers. Gaston may have even been jealous of any friendship Lefou had with someone who wasn't him. That thought always gave Lefou comforting memories, especially in times when Gaston took him for granted.

He began to fantasize about what Gaston would have done to M. Chasseur had he known what just happened. He imagined Gaston angrily punching Chasseur's face so hard he'd fall to the ground. Nothing too gruesome, like slicing the man's throat with his dagger. That was too much. Chasseur didn't deserve to die. He just deserved to be humbled and humiliated, an eye for an eye. Lefou wanted Gaston to fight for him and defend his honor, that's all.

While Lefou was lost in his thoughts for the next few hours or so, Gaston had slumped over against the coach's window, asleep. Lefou wished he knew how to read, because it would be something to distract himself. He had always seen men reading books while traveling long distances. They weren't even halfway to Villeneuve yet.

When they reached Fontainebleu, a busy station closest to Paris on the route, a few people boarded their coach to occupy the empty seat across from them; two older men and a woman. Gaston woke up, and the five of them shared small talk. Inevitably, the war that ended several years ago was brought up, Gaston talked about his medals, and the fellows thanked Gaston and Lefou for their brave service. It was pleasant.

The next stop on the route was the city of Troyes, where Gaston and Lefou stopped to walk around and wait to board the next coach at eight in the evening. They went into another inn for dinner- beef stew and baguettes and beers- and soon climbed on a second coach. Lefou thought that he and Gaston would be the only ones still traveling east, but once they were settled, a new passenger was helped on by a depot worker. A woman. A pretty, young woman.

"Bonjour!" Gaston said, giving her his best smile. She smiled at him shyly, though her eyes lit up with interest. "What's your name, mademoiselle? I'm Gaston."

"Madame Beauvais," she replied, averting her eyes.

"Give Monsieur Beauvais my greetings, then. He's a lucky fellow."

The woman looked at him with barely-masked pain. "He died."

"You're a widow, then?" Gaston said nonchalantly. Lefou noticed a twinkle beginning to form in his friend's hazel-olive eyes. A devilish twinkle. 'Oh dear Lord,' Lefou thought.

"Oui," she said sadly, keeping her gaze out the window.

Gaston didn't ask her any more questions after that. He lazily lounged next to Lefou, still playing with his new dagger every so often. Madame Beauvais pulled out some knitting from her bag and began to work on her project; a shawl or quilt.

"Who are you making that for, Madame?" Lefou asked her. He felt like talking to someone, rather than dwelling on what happened hours ago and many miles away.

"I'm making it for my daughter, Isabelle. She's four years old." The woman smiled at him; a sad smile.

"I'm sure she's a pretty little girl, Madame. I'm sorry for your loss," said Lefou.

"Merci," the woman said, smiling at him. "He took ill last year. But we're living with my Papa and Maman now, so I'm very thankful. Are the two of you heading home, or going on a trip?"

"We're heading home," interjected Gaston in his commanding voice. "We were just on a trip to Le Mans. I was given my medals of honor for my war service. You do remember the Seven Years' War, don't you? Unfortunately I only got to fight for the last year or so of it. I was too young for battle in the early years of that grand conflict. But I rose in the ranks, and made captain at the age of eighteen."

"Oh...that's honorable," the woman said, her face making it clear that she wasn't sure what to make of the handsome man.

"I have two Silver Crosses and now I have three Gold Royal Medals of Valor, commissioned by King Louis himself. I saved the principalities of Alsace and Lorraine from being conquered by the Prussians entering France via Strasbourg. And- I valiantly pushed back a band of Portuguese from our principality, who were moving in from the west."

"Just you?" Lefou quietly interjected.

"Well, all my men with me, of course!" Gaston corrected his faux-pas with a hearty laugh. "But it was my tenaciousness that crushed their armies flat. No one else could have done such a thing. I was put on this earth for battle. I am a warrior through and through."

"Thank you for your service," the woman said, not being able to help being amused and intrigued by Gaston's mere presence, despite his shameless vainglory. "I'm heading home to Epinal. Is that where you live, Monsieurs?" She asked the question of both Gaston and Lefou, now that she assumed they were traveling together.

"I'm afraid not, Madame," Gaston replied. "I live further east, in a little town called Villeneuve, just west of Colmar. The boondocks, unfortunately. Nothing but forests, farms, and good game animals. I'm a skilled hunter, you see."

"He's right about that," Lefou added. "He's considered the best hunter and marksman in Alsace."

"And what do you do?" Madame Beauvais asked Lefou, turning her friendly smile to him as her fingers worked her knitting needles.

"Lefou's my assistant with all my affairs," said Gaston, aiming his gaze away from the young widow and towards his closest friend. "He can cook a delectable egg omelet. I'd say that's his main talent. Either that or the way he sings odes to me. And he was a medic in the war. And my dearest friend."

Lefou felt color blossom in his cheeks. The compliments sounded genuine, sincere. "Thank you, Gaston."

"Thank you, Lefou. You're the best." He slapped his arm around his shoulder again, and in his loud booming voice, he addressed both him and the woman. "I don't understand why it is that no girl has claimed you as her husband yet!"

Lefou caught the young widow smiling, looking at him with approval as if she were thinking, 'I don't either.' Embarrassed but glad to have his self-esteem restored, he chuckled a little.

"I'm still young, I suppose," he said, grinning up at Gaston.

"True. And so am I," Gaston agreed. "We have plenty of time, don't we, Lefou?"

"Yes, uh, of course," he replied, nodding.

His heart warmed with relief, because it meant that even though Gaston spoke of prospective wives and girls, it never actually came to fruition. The former war captain was perfectly happy with bedding girls in brothels, as annoying as it was to Lefou. At least that was better than having Gaston's new future bride move into the Legume home with them. If that ever happened, Lefou would move back into his late parents' old cottage. He kept it for that reason; cleaning and maintaining the little house, allowing boarders to live there once in a while, collecting rent. It was a lonely, empty place without his Maman and Papa there anymore.

The woman sat quietly doing her knitting, and the coach stopped at its next depot- the town of Epinal. There, Madame Beauvais stood and prepared to depart.

Lefou dug into his pocket until he found something. "Madame?"

"Yes, Monsieur?" she said.

He gave her five livres in coins. "A little something for your daughter. Maybe a bonnet to go with that shawl you're making her. You see, I know what it's like to have a parent die on you. Gaston and I both know what it's like."

"Merci!" the woman exclaimed. "I'll always remember you two. You have...quite the personalities, Monsieur Gaston, and Monsieur Lefou."

Lefou and Gaston offered to hand her luggage down to a worker, and she graciously bade them godspeed. "Say, Madame," Gaston said to her before she departed, "If I ever decide to visit Epinal, I might just...look you up." He grinned at her. She shook her head with an embarrassed little smile, and walked away.

"She'll dream about me tonight," Gaston opined as he watched her leave.

Lefou was alone with Gaston again, on the road for a good many more miles. "Don't you want to go sit in the empty seat, Lefou? There's more room there," Gaston suggested.

"No, thanks, I'm quite comfortable here. Why, is it too much...closeness to have me sitting next to you?"

Gaston quirked his eyebrow in his teasing, quizzical way. Vintage Gaston. He slowly shook his head. "Nope."

Lefou smiled and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep as the coach rolled homeward. He was happy and content now. What he had with Gaston might not be love, but at least it was something.

Their lives would remain this way, uneventful and predictable, for the next few years. Lefou hunted with Gaston, shared his manor home, spent evenings at the tavern with him. The two never ventured very far from Villeneuve again after that.

Looking back, Lefou never could have fathomed that the 'little brunette girl' around town- the one whom Gaston had casually mentioned that day in the carriage- would cause such an unbearable frustration for his friend. He never could have imagined that she would spark the beginning of his self-destruction.

...