āWhat does it mean to be a father?ā
Maurice will never know how he got to be in such a position as this, and he certainly wishes for a handkerchiefāor something to wipe his paint-stained hands withāto be nearby. Ā Heās sitting next to the most powerful man in the land, after all, though at the moment, his looks did not match his title.
The regentāor is he the king? Maurice wondersāis dressed in a simple coat and trousers, both of which are an earthy brown. The absence of the wig reveals natural greying hair, and without any bracelets or jewels he looks quiteā¦normal. Nothing at all like the paintings in the West Wing.
Even more of an interest, he muses, is the look in the manās eyes. Ā They are a hard, rather miserable gray, a shade Maurice would only use when painting a thunderstorm or a cloudy night. Ā But his expression does not match such a sad color. Ā The manās hands are folded politely in his lap, and on his face, there is a genuine look of interest.
He somehow looks skeptical even without the skepticism, Maurice thinks, and tries to compose himself before speaking.
āForgive me, Sire, I believe I misheard you.ā
āPlease donāt,ā the man replied, and for a second Mauriceās thoughts flew to the etiquette lists Cogsworth had so graciously made for him, wondering if he had said the wrong thing.
āI have been neglecting my duties for years now,ā he continued. Ā āI am no more a royal than you are.ā
Oh. Maurice opens his mouth, compelled to reassure him that it isnāt his fault, that magic is a fickle thing, but something stops him. Ā Thereās a flicker in that gaze, hinting that he meant more than what was said.
The old artist did not know much about Adamās father, only that he was absent the night the curse was cast, meaning he had forgotten about the inhabitants of the castle just like everyone in Villeneuve. Ā Maurice had arrived with Monsieur DāArque, just as the sun rose above the highest turrets and towers. Ā In his search to locate his daughter, he had noticed this same man, haggard yet joyful in the presence of his son. Ā He had no idea he was staring at the true master of the castle until LumiĆ©reāthe candlestick, he still couldnāt believe thatāhad addressed him as such.
āWell, Iā¦I wish I had an answer that would suffice, Monsieur,ā Maurice finally says. āTo tell the truth, Iām not much of an expert on the matter.ā
āAnd yet your daughter is one of the most remarkable women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,ā the king replies. āMost of the princesses I would have picked for my son would only have their titles going for them. Ā Shallow, easily influenced, lured here under the prospect of an alliance. Ā Your daughter isāā
āPerfect.ā The word is out of Mauriceās mouth before he can think of what to say. Ā He stares hard at his hands. Ā One has a rather large smudge of yellow on it.
āCertainly,ā the king admits. Ā āIāve not found fault with her yet, and I usually have a knack for that sort of thing. Ā Strange how things dissipate over time.ā
Maurice blinked, again struggling to speak properly, but now there was something like a cloud over them, and he wondered if the other man knew about the curse at all.
āYourāMonsieur,ā Maurice begins again, āIāā
āMaurice, isnāt it?ā he interrupts.
āI am asking this genuinely, as someone who has no experience in the matter.ā Ā He is silent for a moment, and stares out the window. Ā āItās been such a long time since Iāve seen my son, and Iām sure his memories of me areā¦few and far between.ā
Maurice notices it then. There is something keeping this man back. The way he speaks of the prince is not as a son, but as an unapproachable. Something that he is hesitant to think of. Ā
Is this man really Adamās father?
āYou believe that you cannot father the prince because of your absence? Is there something youāre afraid of?ā
Sacreā¦the yellow smear now seems alarmingly bright. Since when did such a color exist?
He had thought that his initial fear of speaking to a royal was enough to stay his tongue, butā¦
Itās almost as if he has not spoken at all. The king retreats into himself, eyes glazing over, head inclined, on the verge of remembering, but not quite there.
āI donāt know. Ā Iāve forgotten how. Ā But Iād like to try again.ā
Maurice blinks, and the cloud dissipates. Ā This is something that the curse had very little to do with. Ā Something that could have very easily been Adamās childhood, or lack thereof. Ā He had never let the lives of the noblemen grace his thoughts, but now he imagines that because of their upbringings and various duties to attend to, they never had time to enjoy. Ā
The man sitting across from him probably has no idea what rain smells like.
Maurice folds his hands and smiles. Ā
āThe reason I happened upon this castle was because I was attacked by wolves, and I was seeking shelter from an oncoming storm. I let myself in, as the lamps were lit, but no one was inside.ā
Maurice pauses, but there was no sign of anger from the other man, so he kept going.
āAfter I left, I noticed that the gardenāyour garden, I supposeāwas filled to the brim with roses. Ā They were white, absolutely pristine despite the snow. Though I was in quite a state of distress when I left, I remembered the last thing my daughter asked of me was that I bring her back a rose.ā Ā Maurice chuckles. Ā āIn hindsight, that action could have cost me my life, but I still would have done it, thinking back on it now.ā
āPardon me,ā the other man interrupts, āit could have cost you your life?ā
āAhāā Maurice halts, staring. He quickly shifts his attention to a paintbrush he left by the window. Perhaps this man does not know the entirety of it. Surely, he could explain, but this man is still a stranger. And Adamās father. Itās not his place to tell. āIn a way, yes. But thereās no need for concern. If there had been a threat before, it has long passed.ā
In the window, Maurice can see the young boy, Christopher, and his mother, playing outside. Ā Maurice cannot see them smiling, but he can tell just by looking.
I suppose I have a knack for those kinds of things.
āIām a lucky man,ā he admits. Ā āI was able to use my passion to create a living for us. But I would burn every canvas if it led to her happiness. Ā I would give up anything and everything for the sake of my little girl.ā
The king is quiet, and for a moment Maurice thinks he got through to him. Ā Then he said āAnd your wife? Where is she in this wonderful family?ā
It is Mauriceās turn to be quiet. Ā He closes his eyes and her face swims before his, smiling and proud, tears in her eyes. He is able to smile back, and he thanks God for it.
āHer mother died of plague a few months after she was born.ā
There is nothing from the king. Ā In the silence, Maurice turns his hands over in his lap, wondering if he should say more. Ā Instead, he glances up, and the kingās expression is one of a man trapped. He stares at Maurice with such sympathetic agony that Maurice wonders how long he should hold his gaze.
Heās caught in something, Maurice thinks, but does not look away.
In this moment, the answer forms.
āSir, if I may,ā he begins, āI think the answer you are searching for is just to be there.ā
The other man snaps out of his reverie. Ā āI beg your pardon?ā
āBe there. Ā Smile when Adam notices you watching him. Ā Answer any question he asks as honestly and as truthfully as you can. Support him in everything he does, even if you donāt like it.ā
āBut that seems too simple.ā
āItās the hardest thing in the world,ā Maurice replies. Ā He goes to gesture to his studioābefore cringing inwardly at how haphazard and disorganized it is. Ā āWhen I was a young man, I lived in Montmarte, in an old repurposed windmill that my wife was able to earn. When Belle was born, IāI wanted everything to be flawless. I felt like she would never experience any of lifeās troubles, not as long as I was around. I never wanted her to stop smiling. Of course, life will never work out the way you want it to.ā
The king nods. āIāve no right to call my life treacherous. But wandering these halls again, itās so different. Familiar.ā He raises an eyebrow as his gaze travels upwards towards the chandelier. āBut lost.ā
āTo be lost is to be blind to everything around you,ā Maurice replies. Ā āIn a way, I was cursed to be perceptive in everything I did. I saw everything in painstaking detail. So much so that the only way to be rid of it was to paint it.
āBut in recent years,ā he continues, āIāve begun to forget small things. How many gears fit into a music box. Ā How many folds to draw in a frilly dress. And almost as if to correct my memory, my daughter will round the corner with the correct gear in her hand or twirl for me until I remember.ā
The man tilts his head, but Maurice can tell that heās getting it.
Good, he thinks inwardly, I fear Iāve started to ramble.
āThough our relationship needed no improvements before, Iām grateful for my weakening senses,ā he finishes, ābecause now I am constantly reminded of how much she means to me.ā
āYouāve made no mistakes, sir, it seems,ā is the response. Maurice laughs.
āOh, donāt say that; Iāve made plenty of mistakes. There was a time, after her mother died, when I refused to acknowledge it.ā This sparks something in the kingās dark eyes, and Maurice pushes on, refusing to let him think of it. āIt wasnāt until Belle decided to find her mother on her own that I knew I couldnāt hide from it any longer. And there have been moments like that as long as Iāve lived.ā
āSometimes those moments seem to last forever.ā
Maurice grins then, at what the king probably thought was a morbid statement. But that is what makes life beautiful.
āYou, sir, are not blind, so you are not lost,ā he decides. āIn fact, the very action of asking me for advice shows that you see your son, and you see the bond that you want with him. But pay no attention to my story; Iām a humble painter with no knowledge of the world inside these exquisite walls.ā
He gestures to a painting in the far corner of his studio. His daughter stands there, mid-twirl, the sun on her smiling face and a few rose petals drifting in her wake. Her joy is his now, and he will experience it every time he looks at her.
āMaurice, I possess none of the detail-oriented capabilities of an artist like yourselfāā
āNo,ā Maurice interrupts, and this time heās not afraid. āItās just smudges on a canvas. I donāt see every detail anymore. But I see the emotion, and thatās far more important than any scrutinizing on my part.ā
Maurice leans forward, smiling. āBe there. And if you truly want it, the rest will come.ā
The man nods then, and Maurice can see that his words have somewhat fallen through the otherās sadness. āImagine finding such a profound man in a village somewhere. Iām very lucky, arenāt I.ā
āIām an old fool,ā Maurice assures him. āThe villagers used to call me crazy.ā
āI imagine they stopped when you moved in,ā the king murmured.
āNo,ā Maurice shakes his head, āthey stopped when your son greeted them.ā
The manās lips part in surprise, and for a split-second Maurice can see a smile on his face. āI suppose thatās very like him.ā
Then the moment melts away, the two rise, and he offers his hand. Maurice freezes. Heās not wearing gloves. The handkerchief is once again at the forefront of his mind. But heās also not one to leave a hand unshaken, so he takes it.
āMerci. I would like to visit with you again, if my presence was not a bother to you.ā
āO-of course,ā Maurice responds. āBut please, a word of warning. My studyā¦is not a sight for sore eyes at the moment.ā
āA pleasure to meet you, sir,ā is his reply, and heās gone. Maurice can hear a second set of footsteps tailing him, and he wonders if the attendant heard the conversation or not.
But instead, he sits back down and stares out the window. Chapeau and LumiĆ©re have joined the Potts in the courtyard now. The roses are in full bloom. Itās a lovely picture. Heāll have to remember it for when he buys a bigger canvas.
He raises his paintbrush. The smear of yellow is gone. He can feel tears coming.
āBe there,ā he murmurs, and adds a stroke of carnation pink. āAnd the rest will come.ā
He glances at one of the roses outside. Have I done enough, mon ange?
Tagging those I think might enjoy this: @lumiereswig @tinydooms @naturepointsthewayĀ @im-too-obssesedĀ @morgaine2005 @forr-everrmorre @greensearcher @firstherofirstlove @ginnyweatherby @sweetfayetannerĀ
