This is based off of the musical, rather than the book. It's kind of obvious, considering this is under plays and musicals, but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway. :)
I'm sure it's pretty obvious what I ship. Anyway, read and enjoy!
He always found himself there.
Every year, the exact date, he found his feet straying from the path and bringing him there. To her grave. To the grave of the woman who had saved his life. It was a totally selfless action. She simply leapt in front of him. Before, he had never thought that such a small movement could cause such an impact. But that movement happened to save his life.
And it happened to steal hers away. Marius had seen her fall in front of him. It was torture to watch the life of the woman who had kept him from death. Her blood was on his hands, both metaphorically and literally. He had never been able to decide whether it would be worse to cause the death of a friend or a complete stranger.
Both, he supposed, would be incredibly painful.
Marius could never forgive himself for just brushing away her death so quickly. He never mourned, but went quickly about his business, completely lost in the arms of Cosette. He was so young, so wild and passionate, and she a beautiful poppy amongst a field of grey. How could he not wrap herself completely around her slender fingers? How could he not fall hopelessly in love with her and sweep her off her feet? He was only human, for God's sake!
He paid for her gravestone in an attempt to wipe away his guilt. It had satiated his obligation to her for a spell. A year, in fact. A year since Eponine died. And then, he once more felt the crushing weight of responsibility for her death. He tried to ignore it, he really did, but somehow he ended up on his way to her grave with a bouquet of lilies in his hand. He didn't know how he got there, but he did. And he repeated the process every year.
It was the tenth. Ten years ago, the barricade had fallen. It was ten years since Eponine threw herself in front of the bullet. Ten years since he had fallen for Cosette.
The cobblestone path through the graveyard was uncomfortable to walk over, even whilst wearing shoes. Marius had a good deal to walk; her plot was in the very end of the yard. The still silence of early morning was his only companion on his trek. And he was glad of that. If anyone had accompanied him on his journey, it would have been Cosette. He had to leave their home before she woke when he wanted to do anything by himself. She always insisted that she go with him. If Marius was to dare deny her, she would guilt him into staying or throw a royal fit. He supposed that was a direct result of growing up completely isolated from the world and having one person's undivided attention for her entire childhood.
At first, it was charming. They were young, in love, and completely absorbed in each other. But Marius grew. He had a life to live, things to do, people to see. Cosette, well, she seemed incapable of growing as a person. She was still the exact same person she was when they had met, in fact, her beauty had only ripened, but Masius had changed. They didn't fit anymore. She just didn't see that. Perhaps Marius was not suited for Cosette, as he had once thought. Perhaps he was not suited for marriage at all.
He neared the end of the pathway as the rising sun became visible over the fence. He was only able to see a sliver of light; most of the sunrise was blocked by the ancient willow trees that hung overhead. Marius brushed aside some of the hanging branches with his free hand as he ducked into the grass. The soft blades were welcome relief from the harsh cobblestone. He walked down the row of small, simple gravestones. The inscriptions and names were the same as always. In another ten years, he was sure he would be able to recite them from memory.
Eponine's grave was at the very end of the row, the very smallest of the stones. He wished that he had given more money to pay for the stone. She deserved it in solid gold. Not gold, platinum. She deserved it to be crafted by angels. He hadn't much to spare at the time, what with the wedding and not being at all wealthy to begin with, and angels obviously couldn't do much for him.
He squatted down in front of the grave and set the flowers down. He had done what he had come to do, and his conscience felt a bit of relief. But that meant that he would be returning home. He felt a sinking feeling, and he admitted to himself that he truly dreaded going home. For years, three at least, he had suppressed that thought. But he could no longer deny it. He dreaded going home to his wife. It was a completely wicked thought. He had sworn to love her forever, but he just didn't.
How could you force your feelings? How could you conceal such a massive emotion? How could he have changed so drastically that the woman he would have torn through the fabric of time to make happy was the cause of his anxiety? When had her clinginess gone from adorable to irritating? How had she become so annoying as to make him weary to enter his own house for fear of finding her there?
Eponine wouldn't have been like that. She would have been able to cope with change. She would never have been so static, so flat. She may not have been the blossoming morning glory that Cosette was, but she was beautiful in an unconventional, unique way. And she had a goddamn spine, not like Cosette. If the two of them were stranded in the wilderness, Cosette would probably sit down and cry, waiting for someone to help her, while Eponine would actually look for help.
Eponine would let him have his space; she would never try to tag along without being asked. She had been her own person. She had a mind of her own. She was witty, clever, the sort of person you could actually have a conversation with. Cosette was not.
"Thank you." He said to Eponine's grave. Words were not enough, but nothing else could be done. His feet moved back towards the path, but his heart stayed behind.