Belle started as she felt an arm drape about her shoulders. She looked up through tear-clouded eyes at the man she was so utterly in love with. He smiled softly and brought her to a standing position alongside him.

"Belle, I'm so proud of you." He said, the truth shining in his eyes. She sniffed and attempted to dry her eyes, trying to get rid of her momentary weakness. Her hand was paused, removed, and replaced by that of her beloved.

"No, let it out, Belle. It's alright to cry for the fallen, twisted as they may be. He, Gaston, brought this upon himself. This was no fault of your own, but that of a mentally disturbed man who couldn't handle loosing to anyone. Cry if you need to do so. Cry for your father. Cry for your innocence. Cry for Gaston. But, do not ever hold back your feelings. They are as much a part of you as you are I. My Belle, what you did, you did out of love and protection of your family. There will be no guilt over this. None. Now, let's go home. Mrs. Potts is sure to be absolutely frantic with worry."

It was mid morning before the ragged couple reached the castle. Mrs. Potts immediately ran out to greet them, fussing over the wounds on both. Calling the other servants to attend her Master, she guided Belle to the room that had been hers since the beginning. Belle, tired from all of the events of the past few days, didn't protest. She followed the plump woman blindly; only stopping when she would have ran into her.

Mrs. Potts sighed and shook her head. Letting them both into the younger girl's room, she sat Belle on the bed as she took out clothes for the girl to wear. The elder woman laid them on the bed beside Belle and proceeded to make a bath for her. Belle stared blankly in front of her, focusing on nothing in particular.

After checking that the bath was a suitable temperature, Mrs. Potts returned to Belle's side and lead the young woman over. After she was settled in the bath, Mrs. Potts took care to clean each wound, ensuring that it would not become infected. She would dress them after Belle finished in the tub.

She had just turned to get a towel for the young Mistress, when she heard a sob come from Belle's general direction. Quickly returning (with the towel in hand), she was met with an armful of a very naked, distraught woman. Gently wrapping her in the towel, Mrs. Potts rocked the girl back and forth, like she would her son when he was upset.

"There, there child. Let it all out. You don't have to be brave here. I'm here dearie. You just have yourself a good cry. Tell Mrs. Potts all about it. It's okay, you're fine. Everyone is alive and whole." The motherly woman spoke to the very upset Belle. She led the girl back to the bed, where she paused to help the child dress. As soon as the clothing was in place, Belle collapsed onto the bed and curled into a ball. She clutched a pillow for dear life, and sobbed into it. Faintly, Mrs. Potts could hear a 'papa' being whispered in between the cries. Smiling sadly, the woman went to sit beside Belle on the bed and moved her head into her lap.

"Shh… Your papa loved you very much, but he wouldn't want all of this fuss made over him. However, with that being said, you just mourn all that you like dear. Cry your hurt out. Make your peace. You shall not be bothered in here. As soon as you are ready, we'll celebrate his life and his memory." Mrs. Potts whispered to Belle as she patted the child's head in comfort. Belle clutched the skirts of the motherly woman and sobbed even harder.

It was hours until she felt that she could stop and Mrs. Potts had been there for every moment. Sitting up, she looked apologetically at the ruined dress. Catching the look, Mrs. Potts said, "Oh, no you don't. You are not to feel guilty over this old thing. Clothes can be replaced, but what you have lost is irreplaceable. This pales in comparison to your loss. If a ruined dress is the price that I have to pay in order to comfort you, then I'll take a thousand ruined dresses to see you smile again." The kind woman lifted Belle's head up to look in her eyes. Eyes full of sorrow and pain. They were haunting. Tears began to form in the elder's eyes as she embraced the girl tightly. She was embraced just as hard. Sometimes it took a mother's touch to help mend a wound. No one ever said that it had to be your own mother.

Maurice's funeral was held later that evening with the entire town in attendance. By that time the village as a whole knew what had happened only hours beforehand. Belle held strong during the affair and, though she did not know it, gained the respect of all in attendance. In her, they saw a strong woman, who would and could be a leader. A woman they would want as their ruler, their monarch.

After the words of parting were said, Belle (as the only surviving member of Maurice's family) took the torch offered to her by the overseer and set the funeral pyre alight. Her peace made, she turned her back on the empty shell that was her father's body being burnt to ash to rejoin the earth. She looked to the sky, silently promising her father that she would someday join him, although she apologized that it would not be anytime soon. She was needed here.

After the last villager returned to their home, Belle remained. Surrounding her was the people that she had grown to care for and to love. They offered her silent support as they traveled back to the castle. She, in return, gave them a small smile. She hoped that they understood that, while she was not okay now, she would be in time.

A/N: Well, it's been a long road. I've loved reading all of your comments and I've loved writing this story, even though there were times when I seemed to have abandoned it. I hope that you have enjoyed it as much as I have. But we have reached the end of our tale. I thank you for sticking with me until the end. It's been an honour to develop as an author with all of my readers. Thank-you.