Beauty and the Beast Novelization

by Disney Writers

  Moments later, they were safely through the gate and back in the woods that surrounded the castle.

  But it didn’t take long for Belle to realize she had traded one terrifying situation for another. As Philippe cantered along, she caught glimpses of shadows out of the corners of her eyes. They gradually grew larger and more clear, and by the time Belle heard the first howl, she already knew that she and Philippe were being followed by a pack of wolves.

  Urging Philippe on, Belle tried not to panic. Philippe was a big horse with heavy hooves and he was fast when he needed to be. If they could just get close enough to the village, she was sure the wolves would be frightened by the signs of civilization. As long as they didn’t run into any obstacles before then, they should be okay.

  And then Philippe ran right out onto a frozen pond.

  Beneath his hooves, the ice groaned. Belle leaned over and saw cracks begin to appear. Small at first, they grew larger as the horse slipped and slid across the frozen surface. Shouting encouragement, Belle tried to calm Philippe, who was growing more and more panicked as the ice began to give out beneath him and the wolves closed in from behind. Belle felt the horse’s powerful haunches bunch beneath him and she grabbed a fistful of his mane. Then…he leapt.

  Belle’s breath caught in her throat as they hung, suspended in the air for a moment, before Philippe’s front hooves landed on the pond’s edge. A moment later, his back hooves followed. But the cry of relief Belle wanted to let out caught in her throat as the first of the wolves, seeing a chance, attacked.

  One wolf’s large jaws snapped as it went after Philippe’s back leg. A moment later, another wolf joined in. Philippe kicked out and bucked wildly, trying to defend himself. On his back, Belle clung to his mane desperately. But Philippe was just too strong and powerful. As his hind legs once again flew into the air, she was knocked out of the saddle and went flying into a nearby snowbank.

  Getting to her feet, Belle looked around wildly for something she could use to defend herself. Spotting a thick branch, she grabbed it and waved it in the air in front of her.

  The wolves, seeing a new and potentially easier target, closed in. Belle’s arm shot out and she managed to hit one on the nose. Another came at her and she swung the branch, slamming it into that wolf’s side. Despite her efforts, the wolves kept coming. Belle backed up, her heart pounding and fear flooding over her. Hearing a howl from above, she saw the biggest wolf yet standing on a ledge above her, ready to pounce. It stared at her with cold, hungry eyes.

  Belle braced, ready to defend herself until the end.

  Then she heard a yelp and a thud, and there was a flurry of movement behind her.

  Turning, she was shocked to see the Beast. He had leapt into the middle of the pack of wolves. Several of them had backed away and looked to be licking wounds. The largest of the wolves—the alpha—was still on his feet, hackles raised, teeth bared. The Beast’s back was to Belle and she could see where the wolves had bitten him. One after another, the smaller of the wolves attacked. Each time, the Beast managed to pick them up and hurl them away. But Belle could tell that the Beast was growing tired. The wounds on his back were bleeding and his head was hanging lower and lower. She wasn’t sure how much fight he had left in him.

  Then the alpha attacked.

  The big gray wolf leapt up onto the Beast’s back in one fluid motion. The alpha’s mouth opened as he went for the Beast’s neck. Roaring, the Beast dropped the two smaller wolves he had been holding in his paws and reached over his shoulder. Just as the alpha’s jaws were about to close, the Beast ripped the creature off his back. The alpha’s back legs dangled in the air as the Beast, for one long moment, just held him in front of his face, their eyes locked. And then the Beast, with the last of his energy, hurled the alpha away from him. The wolf flew through the air and slammed, with a crack, against a large stone.

  Seeing their leader knocked unconscious, the rest of the wolves took off in a panic.

  The Beast waited until the wolves’ yelps had all but gone before letting out a whimper of pain. His shoulders, which had been tensed and high, slumped. And then he collapsed in the snow. Where his wounds touched the ground, the bright white powder turned red.

  Belle stood, unable to move. She was as rooted to the ground as the trees around her. Looking down to where the Beast lay, she knew this was her chance to run. There was no way he could follow her or even try to stop her. Not in his condition. As she watched, he whimpered again and tried to clean one of the wounds on his arm. His blue eyes met hers for just the briefest of moments. But it was long enough for Belle to see the pain and vulnerability in them and for her to make a decision: she wasn’t going to leave him there, hurt in the snow. She couldn’t. Not after what he had just done for her.

  Racing over, she knelt down beside him, pulling off her cloak and laying it over him. “You have to help me,” she whispered gently. “You have to stand….” Putting her body under his shoulder, she pushed up, letting the Beast lean on her like a crutch. He roared in pain and grew heavier as the sensation overtook him. Belle shivered. She needed to get the Beast back to the castle—before it was too late.

  “LISTEN! WOLVES! WE MUST BE close to the haunted castle!”

  Sitting in the back of Gaston’s carriage, Gaston and LeFou were startled by Maurice’s shout. The three men had been making their way through the forest for quite some time. The rest of the crowd had turned back, happy to return to the warmth of the tavern, once Gaston made it clear he was going into the woods. And while the forest wasn’t exactly picturesque, it wasn’t nearly as menacing as Maurice’s wild tavern tale had led Gaston to believe.

  “Maurice, enough is enough,” Gaston said, turning to look at the older man. The carriage ride had made his wild white hair even more disheveled and his eyes were whipping back and forth as he gazed around the forest desperately. “We have to turn back,” Gaston added, not sure Maurice had even heard a word he said.

  But apparently he had, because he quickly shook his head. “No! Look!” Maurice pointed up ahead.

  Following the old man’s finger, Gaston saw a tree on the side of the road. It was withered, its branches bent at odd angles, its trunk smooth with age. Over the course of their journey, Maurice had been telling them all about how he had first found the enchanted castle. He had mentioned something about a tree that looked like a cane and a hidden path….Cocking his head to the side, Gaston narrowed his eyes. It sort of looked cane-like, but there was definitely no path behind it.

  “That is the tree!” Maurice exclaimed, as if sensing Gaston’s doubt. “I’m sure of it. Of course, it was downed by lightning at the time, but now it’s been restored to an upright position. By magic, it seems…”

  Leaning over, LeFou tapped Gaston on the shoulder. “You really want to marry into this family?” he whispered, rolling his eyes.

  Gaston knew the smaller man was teasing him, but LeFou had a point. Enough was enough. He had let Maurice lead them out there with the sole intention of blackmailing him into giving Gaston Belle’s hand in marriage. But if they couldn’t find Belle, what was the point? “I’m done playing this game of yours,” Gaston snapped, stopping the carriage. Jumping down, he put his hands on his hips. “Where is Belle?”

  “The Beast took her!” Maurice said again.

  Gaston’s eyes narrowed. He was trying very hard not to lose his temper, but the old man was making it difficult. “There are no such things as beasts, or talking teacups, or…whatever.” As he spoke, his voice grew louder and his hands began to clench and unclench at his sides. “But there are wolves, frostbite, and starvation.”

  Scrambling off the carriage, LeFou raced over to his friend’s side. “Deep breaths, Gaston,” he said. “Deep breaths.”

  Gaston’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, it seemed a very good possibility that he was going to hit something. But then he took a deep breath, like LeFou had suggested. And another. And then one more, for good measure. “So,” he started agai
n when he was calmer, “why don’t we just turn around and go back to Villeneuve? Belle’s probably at home cooking up a lovely dinner….”

  “You think I’ve made all this up?” Maurice asked, seemingly unaware how close Gaston was to breaking. He looked up at the large man in confusion. “If you didn’t believe me, why did you offer to help?”

  “Because I want to marry your daughter,” Gaston said, with no attempt to hide his plan any longer. “Now let’s go home.”

  “I told you! She’s not at home, she’s with the—”

  Rage flooded over Gaston and he erupted. “If you say ‘beast’ one more time, I will feed you to the wolves!” he screamed, all his composure gone. He stalked over to Maurice and raised his fists.

  LeFou watched his friend go dark. He knew he had to do something. “Stop!” he cried, frantically trying to think of what to say next. When Gaston got angry, it was hard to pull him out of it. LeFou had really only seen him that way a few times—and it took a while to talk him down. Suddenly, LeFou knew exactly what to do. “Think happy thoughts,” he said soothingly. “Go back to the war. Blood, explosions, more blood.” As LeFou spoke, the red faded from Gaston’s cheeks and his hands began to unclench. His eyes clouded over as he got lost in the memories of his glory days.

  By the time LeFou finished speaking, Gaston was back in a good head space. “Please, forgive me,” he said. “That’s no way to talk to my future father-in-law, now is it?” He smiled at the old man. But the smile didn’t reach Gaston’s eyes.

  That wasn’t lost on Maurice. And neither was the fact that Gaston clearly had a dark side. “Captain,” he said, backing up a step, “now that I’ve seen your true face, you’ll never marry my daughter.”

  LeFou gulped. I wouldn’t have said that if I were you, he thought. Gaston might take it badly and if that happens…

  Gaston pulled back and hit Maurice. Hard. The old man sagged to the ground, unconscious.

  You might just end up getting hit, LeFou finished his thought. He opened his mouth to try to once again calm his friend down, but it was too late. Gaston had given in to his rage, and there was no pulling him out of it. Not now, at least.

  “If Maurice won’t give me his blessing,” Gaston said as he picked up the unconscious man and carried him over to a tree, “then he is in my way.” He pulled a rope out of the carriage and tied Maurice’s hands. He gave the knot a tug, checking to make sure it was secure. “Once the wolves are finished with him, Belle will have no one to take care of her but me.” With an evil laugh, Gaston climbed back into the carriage.

  LeFou swayed nervously on his feet as he looked back and forth between Gaston and Maurice. He understood his friend was upset. Gaston hated when he didn’t get his way. But leaving the old man out there to be eaten by wolves? The punishment seemed a bit severe. “For the sake of exhausting our options,” he said nervously, “do we maybe want to consider a plan B?”

  Gaston shot him a look. LeFou gulped and quickly got in the carriage, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach.

  It looked like they were sticking to plan A.

  Belle had never had a patient who was as beastly as, well, the Beast. Granted, she had only ever tended her father’s odd scratch or cut, but at least he had the common courtesy to be polite. Ever since she had gotten the Beast back to the castle, he had been nothing but cranky. And Belle was growing rather tired of it. He hadn’t been the one who’d had to walk back through the snowy woods in thin shoes. Nor had he been the one who spent that entire journey fearing for his own life. No. The Beast had been unconscious through it all. It had been Belle who had anxiously looked over her shoulder at any little sound. It had been Belle who’d worried that, with each passing minute, the Beast grew weaker and closer to death.

  She hadn’t realized just how tense she had been until she and Philippe arrived back at the castle gates and Mrs. Potts appeared at the front door, the staff in tow to help. Then, and only then, had Belle let out a huge breath and allowed herself to start shaking. And once she started, it had taken a long time—and a very hot bath—to stop.

  But that was then and this was now. Now she had her hands full trying to treat the Beast, who was proving to be a big baby when it came to pain.

  While Belle had recovered, Mrs. Potts had ordered him taken up to his room in the West Wing. He now lay in his old bed, with members of the household staff gathered around to see if they might be of service. A pitcher of hot water and a bowl had been placed beside the bed. Pouring some of the water into the bowl, Belle added a pinch of salt before dipping a clean cloth into the mixture. She rang out the cloth and then, ever so gently, dabbed it on a gash on the Beast’s arm.

  He roared, as though she had cut him anew. “That hurts!” he snarled, baring his fangs and trying to pull his arm out of reach.

  “If you held still, it wouldn’t hurt as much,” Belle retorted, grabbing his arm and yanking it back.

  “If you hadn’t run away,” the Beast said, his jaw clenched, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Well if you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away.”

  Watching the pair bicker, Mrs. Potts raised an eyebrow. Then she looked over at Lumiere, who hovered nervously by the door. They exchanged knowing glances but remained silent, both curious to see where this new sense of familiarity would lead.

  “Well…” the Beast went on, determined to get in the last word, “you shouldn’t have been in the West Wing.”

  Belle wasn’t going to back down. “Well…you should learn to control your temper.”

  The Beast’s mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again. And shut again. Finally, he let out a small sigh. She had him there.

  Smiling, Belle looked back down at the wound she was cleaning. The smile faded. Despite the bickering banter, she was honestly worried about the Beast. The wound was worse than she had initially thought. “Try and get some rest,” she said, gently giving it one last dab with the towel. Standing up, she watched as the Beast’s eyes slowly closed and his breath grew even. When she was sure he was asleep, and momentarily pain-free, she turned to leave the room. To her surprise, Mrs. Potts and Lumiere were waiting by the door. She had completely forgotten they were there.

  “Thank you, miss,” Mrs. Potts said, smiling gratefully up at Belle from where she sat perched on the serving tray.

  Lumiere bowed. “We are eternally grateful,” he added.

  Belle nodded, surprised by the deep concern and worry she saw in their eyes. From everything she knew of the Beast, he wasn’t a particularly kind master. Yet these two looked nearly as drained as the Beast himself. “Why do you care so much about him?” The question was out of her mouth before she could think to stop herself.

  “We’ve looked after him all his life,” Mrs. Potts replied matter-of-factly.

  “But he has cursed you somehow,” Belle said. She wanted to understand why they had such loyalty. It just seemed so…strange. When neither the teapot nor the candelabrum responded, she pressed on. “Why? You did nothing.”

  The Beast’s cry from when she’d almost touched the glowing rose echoed in her ears: You could have damned us all! The castle was clearly under some sort of spell. And she couldn’t imagine any of the castle’s staff was responsible for their state.

  “You’re quite right there, dear,” Mrs. Potts said. “You see, when the master lost his mother, and his cruel father took that sweet, innocent lad and twisted him up to be just like him…we did nothing.” As if she had been waiting to tell their story for a long time, the words poured from Mrs. Potts. She painted a sad picture of a young boy who loved his mother with all his heart. Back then, Mrs. Potts told Belle, the castle had been a different place. It had been full of laughter and love, sunshine and innocence.

  And then the boy’s mother, the Beast’s mother, Belle clarified in her head, had grown ill. Belle’s eyes grew wide as Mrs. Potts explained that the boy had stayed by his mother’s bedside day and night, watching as she withered away. H
e had begged the doctors to help her but they just shook their heads and offered up false promises.

  The poor boy, Belle thought. I never knew my mother, and I still feel the hole in my heart from where she should be. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for the Beast. To have known such love—and lost it.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Mrs. Potts went on with her sad tale. After the boy’s mother had passed, nothing was ever the same again. The father was a cold, heartless man who tore the sunshine from his son and buried it deep down. As time had passed, all traces of happiness were taken from the castle, replaced with darkness and a sense of heartlessness—even before the curse.

  Mrs. Potts’s voice trailed off as, on his bed, the Beast moaned in pain. The three watched, their breath held, until he once again settled. As she turned back to Mrs. Potts and Lumiere, Belle’s eyes fell on the glass jar and the rose that was slowly fading inside, the crimson petals gathered beneath it.

  “What happens when the last petal falls?” she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

  “The master remains a beast forever,” Lumiere replied. “And the rest of us become…”

  “Antiques,” Mrs. Potts finished.

  “Knickknacks,” Lumiere added.

  Cogsworth, who had come to check on the patient midway through the conversation, cleared his throat. “Rubbish,” he said harshly. “We become rubbish.” Belle raised an eyebrow. The clock’s voice was more severe than she had ever heard it.

  All around her, the other members of the staff who had been helping tend to the Beast joined in, adding to the laundry list of what they would become. Belle listened, her heart growing sad. She knew what it felt like to be trapped. She felt that way living in Villeneuve, where every day was the same, every person like the others. The difference was, she could leave if she ever really wanted to get away. Mrs. Potts? Lumiere? Cogsworth? They couldn’t. They were stuck inside the castle walls and, she now knew, stuck inside the objects they had become, as well. She turned and looked at the sleeping beast. Like his staff, he was trapped, too. He had been trapped for a long, long time—first by a cruel father and then by this curse.