Paris- June 5-6th 1832
"'Parnasse…get out of my way." Eponine glowered at the young man who was blocking the doorway, wearing a smirk that went with his fine clothes. He took one of her hands, examining it for a careful moment, the smile still on his lips.
"Off to the barricades are we mon chere?" He inquired lightly, a look of possession glimmering in his black eyes as he wrapped his arms around her alarmingly thin waist. There was a look in those orbs of someone who had just tricked their way out of an asylum… Eponine shuddered.
"No… why would I go there?" She asked hotly, trying to struggle from his iron grip, discerned by the sudden steel in his gaze.
"Don't lie to me 'Ponine," He snapped. "I know all about your…student friend." Her heart nearly stopped at his words. If Montparnasse, who was known to be quite jealous knew of the one she truly cared for, it was a shock to her that the other youth was still alive.
"Then let me go to him." She said quietly.
"No." Such authority had never been truly heard in his voice before. "You are not going to get yourself killed on the barricade this night." He said darkly. "I care too much for you to allow that."
"You don't give half a sou as to what happens to me." Eponine muttered sourly. "Or did you need me because your mistress finally realized that you're no better than a sewer rat and threw you out into the gutter where you belong?" His eyes narrowed angrilly at her.
"Hold your tongue or I'll cut it out." He grumbled, squeezing all the breath from her and pushing her away from the door. Eponine raised her head, ready to try and get past him again when she felt the stinging pain of Montparnasse backhanding her so harshly that she stumbled and fell to the floor. There was no hope she'd make it to the barricades that night. She had only one thought after this realization: "I'm sorry Monsieur Marius…"
The two barmaids exchanged amused glances at one another as they leaned on the counter of an unknown tavern. It was frequented by very few, which was tragic because it was a fine little establishment. Dingy and ill kept of course, but it served very good wine, at reasonable prices. Who really cared if dust gathered in the corners if there was fine alcohol for cheap? Well, not for one, the man in the corner, who was their current topic of discussion.
"How long has he been there?" The first asked. She was a skinny, stick like creature, who would have been pretty if her green eyes had not been ringed with shadows from many a sleepless night at work. The second, more homely, though looking a bit better fed than the other giggled.
"Monsieur came in this morning and has been there ever since." She drummed her dirty fingernails on the counter, head resting in her other palm as she stared at the man a little longer. "Josephine…do you think we should wake him? He said something about the revolution when he came in." It did not take a long glance at the man to tell anyone that he was in fact, deeply asleep.
The first maid, who we now know as Josephine shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know…" She said thoughtfully. "It would be a sad thing to know he died on the barricades…" The maids slowly moved from behind the counter, quietly clearing away the numerous empty bottles of wine and other such drinks from their subject's table. Returning to the bar, their gazes were intent once more on the slumbering man in the corner. He looked quite peaceful there, head resting heavily on his arms, chair slightly pushed back from the table.
"Yes…let us not wake him," said the homely maid, who, for the sake of fairness, we shall reveal to you her name, Annalise. "He has always been one of the paying customers." She smiled a little at Josephine who put down the tray she was wiping.
"No…we will let him stay the night here because Monsieur Grantaire has always shown us kindness."
Dawn had long since arrived on the bloodstained rebel fortress. Night had pulled away her shawl, and beneath it, the revolutionaries had discovered the National Guard had not been idle. They have been planning and preparing to carry out a massive counter attack.
Unless Marius was planning a threat to blow apart the barricade once more, things were not exactly going the way they had planned. Many of the men had already fallen, and to add to his unclear mind, the young Pontmercy had recently discovered the fact that Monsieur Fauchelevent had arrived as aid at the barricade.
He had very little time to ponder these things, and it was far too much effort to focus with the grapeshot going off around him and his comrades, as well as the shouts of angry men from both sides.
At the moment they were failing, and every man defending the barricade knew it. Marius could see the fear and pain in their eyes. Many still wounded, had risen to fight once more. He scrambled near the top of the heap peering over as a bullet shot past his right ear, making him duck for cover. He was already wounded, there were several large wounds on his torso, and his handsome face was obscenely bloody.
One would have scarcely thought him living, or human. He was some strange demon, living off the rage and sorrow of the uprising. His heart already broken, he saw fit to let go, and at the moment, he felt there was not that much farther to go into the abyss.
Beneath the mask of blood he was as pale as death, and his vision swam as a mighty burst of National Guardsmen bore down on the barricade, shaking it to its very foundations. Shutting his eyes, the young man blacked out, and felt no more.
…Until he awoke, far from the barricades. Far from everything he wanted. He wanted his life over…Yet it was still a very uneasy question. Would Marius live with such a broken heart?