Chapter Text
Note: This story was inspired by a tumblr post by Wolflec (https://tinyurl.com/lod9nzj) about the possibility of a child meeting the Beast, rather than Belle. The idea took shape in my head and I ran with it. I should like to thank her very much, and I hope that if she ever sees this story, she likes it.
What We May Be
“Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.”--William Shakespeare
"We know what we are, but not what we may be."--William Shakespeare
Chapter One: The Runaway
In the dead of night, Julia Poilâne acted on her plan to run away.
She had been thinking of it for weeks, but her determination had solidified after her latest beating, when Uncle had blackened her eyes for breaking Monsieur Gaston's egg order. It had not been Julia's fault that the eggs had broken-Nico had strung a wire across the barn door to trip her-but Uncle hadn't cared. The eggs were broken and Monsieur Gaston's money would be returned to him. Not that Uncle needed an excuse to beat her. Julia had lain on her pallet for two days, unable to move, crying and plotting her escape.
From her place on the kitchen floor, Julia listened to the sounds of the house. Across the village the church clock chimed eleven. All was silence in the farmhouse. Aunt and Uncle and Nico and Sam were safely asleep, tucked up warm in their comfortable beds. Julia sat up gingerly and slid off of her pallet. The pain from the beating had lessened, but she still couldn't see out of one swollen eye, and her head and shoulders ached. She wouldn't let that stop her. Crossing the kitchen on silent bare feet, Julia lifted one of the shepherds' rucksacks, a flimsy woolen thing, from the back of the larder door and set about filling it with supplies. Aunt's kitchen was well-stocked and Julia moved quickly, knowing where everything was kept even though she was technically forbidden from touching any of the food. Skivvies and poor relations get what I choose to feed them, nothing more, was one of Aunt's favorite sayings.
Well, Julia was no longer a skivvy. She was a runaway. And they deserved to have a little food stolen from them, for all the misery they inflicted on her. Julia hated her relatives with every particle of her ten-year-old heart. She had no qualms about stuffing the rucksack with the two loaves of fresh bread Aunt had left cooling under a cloth, six apples, a string of sausages, an entire round of camembert wrapped in oiled paper. She took a small bag of dry beans, a jar of herbs, a few tomatoes and a sharp knife. On top of it all went the entire sackful of cookies that Aunt baked specially every week for Nico and Sam (“Schoolboys deserve some reward!”). Julia slung the bag across her shoulders and took up a tin plate and cup, and the smallest saucepan. These could go into the saddlebags, for she was determined to take Cider with her.
All was silence in the house as Julia let herself out the kitchen door and hurried to the stable. Outside the air was hot and oppressive, heavy with unfallen rain. The dogs knew her and did not move as she went to the red mare's stall and let herself in. Cider whickered.
“Hush, lady, it's me!” Julia whispered, hurrying to saddle and bridle the horse and stuff her supplies in the saddlebag. She knew that horse thieving was a serious offence, but she couldn't leave Cider-Uncle was almost as cruel to her as he was to Julia.
As she led Cider from the barn, Julia's eyes fell on Nico's wooden sword, standing propped against the wall of the barn. It was a fine thing, carved of oak and sanded to a smooth finish. Nico had been gifted it last Christmas and was immensely fond of it. Julia knew from experience that it delivered a solid smack. She took it and threaded it through her belt. You never knew when you would need a sword, even if it was only a wooden one.
Julia led Cider out of the yard, only mounting up when she was safely down the street. Villeneuve was silent at this hour, its hard-working citizens safely abed. No one noticed a tiny ragged girl atop a tall horse riding out of the village and away. As they left the village for the open fields, Julia urged Cider into a gallop, heading northeast towards the overgrown forest paths that the villagers tended to avoid. Despite the pain in her head and the fear of the unknown, Julia felt her heart soaring. She had done it! She had escaped! Who knew what the future might hold-Julia only knew in that moment the giddy soaring relief of freedom.
But she had to be away, far away, before morning when Uncle woke and came after her. What he would do to her if he found her didn't bear thinking about.
Cider flew into the shadow of the trees, and Julia brought her down to a fast trot. This part of the forest was strange to her. There was something about the northeastern paths that made everyone nervous. She had heard stories of it being haunted. Whatever the case, Julia knew well that the people of Villeneuve disliked these paths and avoided them assiduously, and she meant to use that fear to her advantage. Uncle would think that she was frightened and would stick to the familiar paths when he looked for her. By then she would be long gone.
The forest was dark and silent, the trees grown close together and the underbrush tangled. Julia knew that there were wolves in these woods and hoped that she would not have to encounter any. The building pressure of the coming storm seemed to muffle all sound, and a hot breeze blew through the leaves with a mean little whisper. They jogged along the unfamiliar path for a long time, turning whenever there was a fork in the road. Julia prayed that the rain would hold off until she was able to find some sort of shelter, for she only had her thin capelet. Should've brought Sam's oilskin, you fool, she thought and sighed. Too late. A storm would hinder a search party, anyway.
She had been riding for an hour or two, eyes beginning to itch with tiredness, when the storm broke overhead. The canopy was dense, but enough rain passed through the leaves to soak Julia and Cider. The wind screamed around them, lashing the trees, and suddenly an ancient oak on the path ahead shed a branch, sending it crashing to the forest floor right before Cider's hooves, sending the mare snorting and rearing in fear.
“It's all right, Cider, whoa! Whoa!” Julia yelled, but the mare reared again and plunged down the path revealed by the fallen branch. Julia hung on as the horse ran, praying that she wouldn't fall off. On and on they ran, plunging along the overgrown path. The air grew colder as they went, stinging at Julia's cheeks, until at last Cider slowed and Julia, looking around, realized that it was snowing.
Snow? In June? How was that possible? It swirled around her, the same storm as before, only made winter. Cider minced along, stepping carefully through the snow drifts that covered the twisting path. Julia gathered her capelet around her and peered around, wondering if she had fallen off of Cider and hit her head, if she was now dreaming. The snow was beginning to fall heavier now.Nearby, Julia heard the howling of wolves and shivered. White shapes bobbed around her, coming towards her through the trees. Wolves.
“Come on, Cider! Run!”
The mare needed no encouragement and shot ahead. The wolves followed, howling, and Julia tried not to scream in terror. There was nowhere to go but forward. What was that up ahead?
The forest thinned out, giving way to a monstrous pair of gates. Beyond them, a snowy garden stretched into darkness. And at the end of the darkness stood a castle. Not much choice-Julia made for the gates. They creaked open as she neared, and Cider leaped through. The gates slammed shut behind her, locking the wolves out. Julia gave a thankful sob and made for the castle.
Cider slowed as they approached, blowing hard. Julia leaned down and embraced her, petting and crooning.
“You're so brave, my dear girl, you saved us from the wolves! Maybe we can rest here. They opened the gates for us.”
But who had opened them? There seemed to be no lights in the castle, but for one in a far tower, and the castle itself looked half-ruined. And what was a castle doing in the middle of the northeastern forest, two hours' ride from Villeneuve? Was this what frightened the villagers? But surely they would have mentioned it. People talked around Julia; they took no notice of her. Surely someone would have mentioned a castle?
As she approached, Julia saw that there were lights inside, a handful of very dim ones. Indeed, there was a light under the stairs that led up the castle's front door. Sliding off of Cider, she picked her way through the snow to discover a single stable stall under the stairs. The stall door opened as they approached. The stall itself was strewn with fresh straw, and there was a streaming water fountain and a rack of fresh hay waiting in the manger. There seemed no reason not to go inside, where everything a horse could possibly want lay waiting: a rack of straw in the manger, water in a bucket, another bucket filled with oat, an array of brushes, a quilted blanket. Julia stared. Why was this all just awaiting her? It was all beyond her. Between her fatigue, the daring of her escape, getting lost in the woods, the wolves, and now this, Julia was confused and more than a little frightened, but she knew her duty to her horse. Cider whickered her happiness as Julia removed her tack, setting it on a saddle rack just outside the stall, and gave her a good brushing. The horse turned her attention to the bucket of oats, seeming to dismiss Julia, who picked up the fine horse blanket and slung it over Cider, buttoning it across the horse's chest.
“Thank you,” Julia said out loud, she wasn't sure to whom. The air seemed to be listening. She patted Cider's shoulder and saw herself out. If the people here were giving her horse straw and oats and blankets, they couldn't be offended if Julia asked to spend the night by the kitchen fire.
Shutting the stall door behind her, Julia floundered through the snow towards the stairs. The snow bit at her bare feet, feeling like fire. A light shone in a lamp at the bottom of the stairs where none had been before; as Julia approached she saw that a line of them was lit to lead her to the top of the stairs and across a snowy courtyard to an enormous front door. This opened as Julia approached and she hurried inside, gasping, her feet frozen and the rest of her following. The door eased itself shut behind her.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Julia peered around the front hall. Directly across from her stood a grand marble staircase, its banisters carved to look like writhing dragons. To her left, darkened rooms. To her right, a fireplace so huge that Uncle could have stood up in it, filled with logs that crackled and flamed. Julia forgot everything at the sight of that fire. She hurried to it, skirting the armchairs and tea table that stood around it, and held out her hands. They were blue with cold. Her feet burned with it. She stood as close to the fire as she dared, warming herself. The fire crackled and snapped, and it seemed in the softness of the noise that she could hear whispers.
“She must have lost her way in the woods.”
“Be quiet, you idiot.”
“Is someone there?” Julia called, turning back to the great empty hall. She could see no one. From behind her came the sound of a door opening, and wheels rolling along the marble floor.
“Oh, oh my, look at you, you poor thing!”
It was a woman's voice, speaking in an accent that Julia had never heard, but rather liked. Julia whipped around. A tea service on a trolley had wheeled itself into view, but there was no one there. And then the teapot moved.
“I don't mean to scare you, love, but you look frozen through and a nice spot of tea will do you a world of good,” came the woman's voice from the tea trolley, and Julia, trying to locate it, froze. The teapot was moving. It poured a stream of brown tea into a chipped cup and turned around to face Julia. It had eyes, and a mouth, and it was talking.
“Do you take milk and sugar?”
“You can talk!” The words burst out of her mouth before she could stop them. The teapot laughed.
“Yes, poppet, I can. I'm Mrs. Potts, at your service. Sit down and warm yourself, love, you look done in. Chip!”
The chipped cup leaped into Julia's hands. She stared at it as it grinned up at her. “I like your sword,” it said.
Her sword. The sword she had stolen. Should she drop this talking teacup and brandish her sword at it? For a moment, Julia was tempted, but she dismissed the thought. It would be a silly thing to do. And the tea was hot and she was freezing. The high of her escape, the fear of the wolves, the strangeness of the stable and now this talking pottery-all at once it was too much, and she sank down onto the chair before the fire and tried not to cry.
“Oh, oh dearie, it's all right, you're all right now. Drink your tea, poppet, that's right. Lumiere, come over here, the poor child needs some light,” the teapot-Mrs. Potts-said.
A candelabrum leaped from a sideboard onto the table, flaring into life as it did. “Of course, Mrs. Potts, I am so glad you 'ave taken the lead on this situation. Welcome, mademoiselle, to our 'umble abode! I am Lumiere! Come, come, warm yourself! How is your tea?”
How to answer that? The candelabrum was alive, it was a little man with candles for hands and an expressive face. The teapot could speak, and the teacup. And-Julia didn't know whether to be delighted or horrified-a mantle clock was joining them, berating the candelabrum for speaking.
“What will the master say if he sees us talking to this child?”
“The master can't object to us looking after a traveler sheltering from the storm,” Mrs. Potts snapped. “I should think that's the last thing he has any right to object to.”
“We cannot send her back out into the snow, Cogsworth, it's a howling gale!”
“As head of this household, I must tell you that this is most unwise!”
The teacup in her hands turned to Julia. “They're going to be at it for a while, but Mum'll win,” he said. “Best drink your tea. I'm Chip, by the way.”
Julia blinked rapidly and raised the cup to her lips. The tea was hot and milky and good, and she felt it warming her chest as she swallowed. The argument did seem to be going Mrs. Potts's way; the mantle clock called Cogsworth was now agreeing that it wouldn't do to send Julia back out into the snow. Julia stretched her feet out to the fire. They tingled, but not with frostbite. She guessed that she would be all right.
“She needs a hot meal and a nice place to sleep. I will have Plumette prepare a bedroom at once!” said Lumiere.
“You will do no such thing,” said Cogsworth. “We can't put her in a bedroom without permission. Make up a sofa for her in the little drawing room.”
This was going to a lot more trouble than Julia could handle. “I really only need a blanket. I can sleep in front of the fire.”
“Oh no, dear, we'll look after you properly,” Mrs. Potts said. “Be quiet, you two, can't you see she's overwhelmed? Cogsworth, tell Monsieur Cuisinier to heat up that stew from supper, and Lumiere, ask Plumette to make up a bed in my sitting room. Come now, no more bickering. The poor little thing is exhausted.”
The clock and the candle stick seemed to accept Mrs. Potts's declaration, for they both turned-and stopped, looking startled.
“Uh-oh,” muttered Chip, and jumped out of Julia's hands back to the tea trolley.
The front door was opening again, letting in a stream of snow and cold air-and something else. Julia leaped to her feet, her hand going to the wooden sword in her belt. The something else was huge, a dark shadow that coalesced into a monster seven feet tall, with curved horns and claws and a tail. It trailed a cloak of rags, or maybe that was its hide. Julia yanked her sword out and held it before her.
“Lumiere,” it rumbled, its voice filling the entrance hall. “There is a horse in the stall beneath the stairs!”