Title: Dreaming of that northern land.
Fandom: Beauty and the Beast
Characters: Belle, Beast, others.
Prompt: 003 – Endings.
Word Count: 1897.
Rating: NC-17.
Beauty and the Beast, the movie, belongs to Disney. Nightwish own the song. Not making any money out of it. Don't sue.



Don't you know this tale
In which all I ever wanted
I'll never have
For who could ever learn to love a beast?
Nightwish – Beauty and the Beast.


They sit together by the fountain, her head on his shoulder. She points to the sky above them, telling him about the constellations she’s read about. He tries to learn their names, but he’d rather make his own: the Rose, the Dog, the Bird. She laughs at this, and suddenly the night is more beautiful.

There was little to laugh about a week ago, back when everyone thought he wouldn’t make it. The Beast himself believed it would be better that way. For what good could it be to be a living monster, keeping those who had cared for him prisoners of his own mistakes? Yes, death seemed like a good idea at the time.

Belle wouldn’t let it happen. Belle, with her loving words and sweet promises of better times to come. Because she loved him and wanted him to live. And so he lived for her.

Sometimes, he wonders if he made the right choice.

Like now, as he points to a little cluster of stars next to the Rose. The Petal, the first of many that fell as time ran out.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he says suddenly. He doesn’t look at her as he tells her the story of the spoiled prince, the curse upon his house and the one way to break the spell. Once he’s done, Belle remains silent. He doesn’t realize at first his arm is now around her waist, ready to hold on to her if she decided to run away. When there’s no reply, he closes his eyes and listens to her breathing, feels her body move. So much he can tell by any little thing she does. She’s close to tears. And is his fault. He’s just told her that he could have been more than a monster, if only she’d gotten there sooner.

When she finally speaks, her voice is almost broken, fighting to be brave. “I’m sorry. I never... If I could...”

“Don’t,” he says, opening his eyes and pulling her close to him. “You said it before... When I was dying... You said that we would be fine because we were together.” His gaze meets her. “Do you still believe that?”

“As long as I have you, I’ll believe it. But I... I said it too late, and I took away your chance to be human again. There’s nothing I can do about it.” She sights, frustration and pain barely contained. “I just wish I could make things right.”

“Believe me when I say you are making them better right now,” he says before kissing her.


*

Against all odds, there is a wedding. The bride, glowing in white and golden silk, and her father are the only humans in the room. Maurice reaches out, places her daughter’s hand on the Beast’s paw. Despite everything, his tears are happy ones, for his daughter loves and is loved. That’s all he needs to know, and all Belle asks for. And love is probably the only thing the Beast has to offer now.

*

Life in the castle reminds the Beast of the way things were before the night the last petal fell, back when he thought he might become human again. He and Belle eat together, go for walks in the garden, read. Some things are different, of course. Now they are joined by her father at breakfast and dinner and sometimes during their walks. Maurice speaks of his latest inventions with joy, not failing to mention how much he enjoys the huge workshop he now has in what used to be a large, unused storeroom. The Beast has been inside a couple of times, always confused by the many gadgets and gizmos his father-in-law works on. He stopped trying to touch them after one almost cost him his finger.

Lunch time is just for the two of them. Unlike the rest of their meals, he sits next to her instead of at the end of the table. They talk about everything, they hold hands, they kiss. Just as they would have done if the spell have been broken. Sometimes, there’s something about the way they glance at each other, the neverending longing, that makes them skip the meal and go to their room.

Yet something else different about their lives now: their bodies so close, slick with sweat and embracing in the fresh spring afternoons, the warm summers, the windy autumns, the chilly winters. The fire coursing through their veins is powerful and almost scary at times. He rarely closes his eyes during these moments, when small, delicate hands run over the lengh of his back and shoulders and Belle’s voice is barely a whisper, ragged and calling for him.

He moves beneath her, gently at first and then fierce when she asks him to, thrusting into her until the world explodes around them. He lets out a mighty roar and she buries her head on his soft, furry chest. Her hands wrap around his neck for one long kiss before she slips away. They lie together in perfect silence afterwards. Sometimes, she’ll kiss him again and he’ll run his fingers through her hair, but otherwise they enjoy the silence, a time where nothing matters except each other.

*

Maurice wishes to create a small playground for Chip and his little brothers and sisters. The Beast himself helps by going into the woods with the axes, looking for nice, sturdy logs. Belle offers Phillipe but the Beast assures her he doesn’t mind dragging the logs back himself. He’s quick to point out they’re not even going a great distance for wood because they live in the middle of a forest. He doesn’t tell her how much he needs to be useful, as thought it would make up for his past cruelty towards Belle’s father. She understands that.

A week later it’s all done. There are small levers and slides, a little pool of water with a small raft for the more daring ones (and by “more daring ones”, they mean Chip), shiny whistles that will let out steam if someone steps on the right place. The little teacups love it and spend most of the afternoon discovering all the little surprises “Grandpa Maurice” has made for them.

The Beast and Belle look out for them. There’s something in the way she glances at them that reminds the Beast of one more thing he may never be able to give her. He tries to focus his attention on the little ones. It fails: he sees children robbed of their right to run around the castle, to play games like any ordinary human child. The castle is filled with wonderful, caring people who were robbed of their last chance at humanity.

And they’re good enough to forgive and love the one who took it all away.

Belle says nothing when he rests his head on her shoulder and closes his eyes. He’d rather pretend to be tired than let the tears flow.

*

Sometimes, he finds her sitting alone outside, a book forgotten on her lap as she glances at the woods. He knows she’s thinking of faraway lands and adventures, those things her love for him now deny her.

He once made her his prisoner by her love of her father. Today she’s a prisoner by her love of her Beast. On days like this his kisses are a little more urgent, his arm tighter around her waist as they sleep at night, afraid of waking up one day and finding her gone, pursuing the wonderful life she so rightly deserves.

The Beast tells himself it’s alright, for this fear is nothing. She’s his wife, his princess, his lover, his best friend. He is her home. She is his home.

*

Beneath the fur, there are scars. Belle could spend hours looking at them, trying to read them like one of her books. She recognizes the ones caused by the wolves, Gaston’s knife scar in her beloved’s side. Then there are the others. She asks him about them, he answers. There’s a long, thin one on his left leg (tripped and fell on the castle rooftops). There are long, deep gashes across his right shoulder (a bear). There is one, very small that took her months of exploration of his body to find on his neck (running through thick, thorny bushes when he thought hunters had seen him). He admires how she keeps the fear out of her voice when she asks more questions.

He still goes into the woods on his own every once in a while. He brings rabbit and venison for the pantries, wild flowers for Belle. She keeps them pressed between books, wanting them to be forever with her, a reminder of her husband’s devotion. She thanks him at night, one kiss for every petal, one caress for every bite of food. And it’s just an excuse. She’d do it all over even if he only sat next to her all day, doing nothing.

This is it, he tells himself as he undresses her and lays her on the bed. This is the reason he survived the hunter’s knife. For she is so little in his arms, so beautiful, so perfect, so human. They make love in the afternoon with the windows open so the sun will shine on them, and by candlelight at night. Her kisses burn his flesh, his touch makes her beg for more as she melts in his arms. The outside world would look upon them with disgust and fear. And it doesn’t matter.

For her love makes him think he’s worthy of such wonder.

*
The Beast never thought it would end like this.

He dreamed about the happy ending, where they’d all be human again, and Belle would be his princess, beautiful and sweet and loving him as much as he loved her. It was a time when there was hope for him and his servants, when they truly believed this beautiful girl would be the one to break their spell and set them free.

Then she was gone, and he could see only misery ahead of him. Not that it mattered. Without Belle, there was no point on hoping. The Beast had tasted heaven in a smile and it was lost to him now.

He never expected this kind of ending. The one where he watches Belle sleep next to him, her long chestnut hair spilling over her bare back and shoulders.

Alright, that part he used to imagine, but in those fantasies, it was a human hand, his human hand, over her back, reveling on her softness. He applies a little more pressure, just enough to wake her up. She’s smiling even before opening her eyes.

“Why am I not surprised you just did that?” she asks as she stretches. The sheet falls to her hips and he helps it the rest of the way, his fingers tracing a path along her inner thigh.

“You know me and I know you,” he replies.

“Yes,” Belle says. She leans for a kiss. “We are lucky. Who needs fairy tale endings?”

He gets it now. She’s right.

Happily ever after is highly overrated.

END

Ah dear friend I remember the night
The moon and the dreams we shared
Your trembling paw in my hand
Dreaming of that northern land
Touching me with a kiss of a beast
Nightwish – Beauty and the Beast.