Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis.
Alright, so this came from going to the circus and the headcanon exploded from there and demanded to be written. This is also why my other stories have not been updated :)
Big, Huge, Gigantic thank you to ThinksInWords for betaing and for hers and lilyismilesaway encouragement while I attempted this fic
If you want to know where I got inspiration for the music, dancing, and acts I have them linked with this fic on my tumblr: seredhiel05
Enjolras and the Amis were warming up when he heard her music start. He had only been with the Cirque for three weeks now and ever since that first performance he has been mesmerized by this beauty.
He hopped up from his stretches to go watch in the wings. It didn't matter that he had every moment, every facial expression mesmerized of this number; he just had to watch her. It was a compulsion, a compulsion that he willingly fell into each and every night.
When he first joined three weeks ago he was skeptical. The show had been running for a month before Enjolras joined up with them, playing the part of the general. It had been the talk of the nation and was boasted to be a new and improved cirque, the first of its kind. It focused on the story being told instead of just the acrobatics. It combined the expressiveness of dance and the awe and spectacular feats that were known of the cirque. The creators wanted everything to flow like silk, immersing the audience into its story.
Enjolras had been doing this all his life, dedicated himself to it and assumed the fluidity they craved to be impossible. Some of the stunts were so rigorous and demanded such physical and mental strength to complete that it needed every part of you to get it right. But, as dedicated as he was, he had to try. After all he wasn't known as one of the best for no reason.
The story the show tells is said to be based on history. However, while there are some facts that prove its historical accuracy, there is still so much not known that historians are not comfortable to confirm it; thus leaving it to fall into the same category of legends and fairy tales such as King Arthur, Robin Hood, or Tristan and Isolde.
It is told that in a time before the countries were developed, when lands were owned by kings and wars were fought over the smallest of acreage, there was a prince. He had just secured his engagement and his lands safety by entering into peace talks with a neighboring king. The engagement was part of the treaty and he was to wed the Kings second eldest daughter (the first in line for her own throne) and while the prince did not love her, he loved his land and would do everything in his power to keep it safe. The trip took two days to complete, thus making them seek shelter in the villages nearby. It was pertinent that the prince remain incognito so he was dressed as any regular villager. Night had fallen by the time they reached their momentary destination and the prince was still awake, contemplating the events that had just taken place. He abandoned his guards and walked around the village to clear his head. He was so lost in his thoughts that he just let his feet guide him, ending up at the edge of a forest.
He stopped, his thoughts broken by what he assumed was the wind singing through the leaves. He took in the beauty of the nature and closed his eyes to lose himself in its song. It had a lilting, magical, and musical quality to it and he could not help but fall under its spell. It was only upon opening his eyes did he see a figure dancing, almost out of his line of sight. In fact, if it were not for the moonlight creating a glow around her white nightgown he would not have known a person was there, let alone a female. He crept closer as to not scare her and the closer he got he could see that she was creating that music that he heard and dancing. The prince fell even deeper under her spell, enchanted by her dance. She moved as if she were the wind itself, locked in corporeal form. She moved with such beauty that the prince found himself falling in love for the first time in his life. Moved by this unknown feeling he took a step towards her, snapping a twig underneath his foot and breaking the spell of the moment. The girl stopped and looked at him, terror clear in her eyes. After reassuring her of her safety he commented on the grace of her dance, finding it hard to put into words just how much the dance affected him. By then he had noticed that he had been watching her dance all night and asked her if she would be back the next night. He continued stalling night after night so that he could see her until eventually; both parties were deeply in love.
When he could stall no longer he declared his love for her, asking her to come away with him and be his bride. She agreed, not knowing that he was betrothed to another. The prince broke the treaty with his sincerest apologies, sighting love as his reason and thinking that surely the king would understand such an event. He was wrong though and plunged both kingdoms into war. The battles were long and fierce, both sides suffering severe casualties. Only one regiment of the princes ever came back alive, the same eight soldiers and their general. Sickened by the loss of lives the prince declared an open combat, a battle where he and the king would be present for and none would leave until one side was victorious. That battle waged on until it was just the prince, king, and the prince's general. The prince, not wanting to lose more lives, especially the life of the man he trusted to guard his love's life, cried for a one-on-one fight. The general was forced to sit on the side, not interfering, as he heard the sound of swords meeting over, and over. He could see their prince tiring, his movements sluggish, when one blow knocked him to the ground. Just when the king raised his sword to deal the killing blow a figure darted onto the battlefield.
It was the village girl. She cried for peace, motioning all around her so that they could witness the destruction their hatred had caused. She fell to the group, on her knees, pleading for them to stop. But the king was too blinded by his betrayal that he could not stop. The prince was distracted by his love's appearance that he never saw the sword rise. It was only the cry of the village girl as she flung herself in front of the prince, stopping the blade. She died instantly, but not before falling back into the princes arm and raising her hand to caress his face. The prince's heart hardened and he stuck down the king without remorse before picking up his wife again, distraught written all over his face. The general came forward to help the prince but stopped upon seeing his face. They both looked at each other in sorrow, one for the loss of his love and the other for failing his prince. The prince pleaded with the general to end his life, to let him join her in death and the general felt he could do nothing but grant his request. He had already failed in keeping her safe; he would not fail in providing his prince with this request. This left him the only man alive from that battle, the only one to know the true story of what happened that day. But as history would have it, the true tale was forgotten, only to be told orally and passed down through generations. Sure, there was proof of the battle, the broken engagement, and the respective deaths of the prince and king but there was no record of the village girl and thus, faded from histories minds until it fell into legend.
It was the first night of Enjolras' first performance and he was waiting, watching, in the wings. The directors didn't allow dress rehearsals, which Enjolras found odd, so this was the first time he was going to see it in its entirety (minus the moments he performed, of course).
He was surprised to see how well the show flowed and how well everyone seemed to perform with each other without practicing the transitions that a dress rehearsal would allow. It was truly a rarity to see so much chemistry in one show. He looked upon it with a critical eye, a fault that he couldn't break. He had never in his professional years been able to sink into a show; that delicious weightlessness that accompanied one when they submersed themselves in the show, losing themselves to the story.
He had just finished thinking about the errors he had seen from the lady playing the princess. She was an aerial hoop performer and her routine was supposed to represent her displaying all she could offer to the prince should he choose to accept the treaty. And, Enjolras, knowing how the story played out couldn't help but think it was rather obvious why the prince's eyes were drawn elsewhere. He knew it was a cynic train of thought, and he hadn't even seen the village girl's dance (well he didn't really know anything about her) but it had to be better than the dribble he had just seen.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a drastic change in the music. He let his eyes focus back on the stage, noticing that he missed a whole section. However, the music was intoxicating, hypnotizing him into a state of serenity that he found he didn't care. A lone oboe had started, mimicking the princes footsteps approaching the outer edge of the forest by playing a soft, somber two note change between the lowest notes of it's registrar. It was obvious to Enjolras that originally it had been meant as a bass line played by a cello. It had been adapted for the light-footed quality of a young prince. It surprisingly worked and was joined later by the string instrument taking over the bass line, allowing the oboe to begin a lilting, question-like melody depicting the prince seeing a figure dancing in the distance. If Enjolras listened closely he could hear the faint answering line of a violin and getting stronger as the prince approached the strange dancer.
The beauty of the violin line struck a chord in Enjolras. He had never heard such a soft, ethereal, simple line come from the instrument. It felt like it was literally forming, shaping, the notes from the air instead of bow and string. It caressed the top notes like a mother comforting her babe before falling into the lower range, resonating deep with the core of Enjolras' being. But as sensual as the music was it held nothing to what Enjolras was seeing on stage, and for the first time in his life, Enjolras lost himself to the performance.
She was en pointe and had a red ribbon swirling around her, emphasizing the water-like flow of her movements. The ribbon dipped in a graceful arc as she released her core into a beautiful circular arch. She continued dipping in and out of steps while the ribbon continued to ripple behind her as she played with the moonlight, skipping in and out of its beams.
Enjolras stood, enchanted by her dance as she moved effortlessly between movements. He was so caught up in it that if felt as though he were the one being beckoned to join her, and he had to stop himself when he too an involuntary step forward.
He felt that none were good enough for her and scowled when the prince presented himself to her. He was a skilled at acrobatics, but a lousy dance in Enjolras' opinion. He knew he could do better, he thought to himself as he brooded and watched.
The music continued to wrap itself around Enjolras like a cocoon, mimicking what he was seeing on stage. The bassoon leaped between notes as the prince bounded towards the girl, twirling and flipping while the violin happily skipped back, the bow lightly dancing on the strings of the upper registrar, demonstrating the village girl's reluctance to accept the stranger. This continued on for a few moments until Enjolras could hear the faintest entrance of a bass flute falling into its lowest note as the prince fell to his knees, signifying his surrender to his emotions. The note was so resounding that it made Enjolras want to fall prostrate in front of the girl, begging her to relieve him of the pain of her enchantment. He had never felt so much emotion in his life and it was staggering.
Suddenly, the bass flute trailed up, dancing upon the high registrar, as the village girl whipped her leg around, propelling her into multiple spins before ending in a deep arch, her leg extending towards the ceiling and leaning into the prince. The music dancing and flowed as the pair began their dance. He could hear the way the flautist loved their instrument as they coaxed notes out of it that were commonly difficult to play. They played the notes with ease as the dancers on the stage preformed a complicated series of lifts and turns meant to show them falling slowly in love.
Enjolras' eyes were focused on her, hardly seeing the prince, as he imagined himself to be the one dancing with her. His intense focus was broken by a tap on his shoulder. It was one of his fellow soldiers, Combeferre, if he remembered correctly, motioning him to come and get ready for his first entrance into the show.
It was near the end of the show, during the final battle before he saw her again. Well, he didn't see her exactly but heard the clear cut sound of a violin, piercing through the rough and bright sounds of the trombones and various brass instruments. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her moving around him. He tried to stay focused on his routine, but his mind slowly started to detach itself the more he could see her swirling about above his head and his muscle memory took over, performing the stunts perfectly. He hadn't yet figured out what she was doing, only that she appeared at the top corner of his eye, meaning that she was certainly not on the ground for this number. He could hear the sadness and despair in the dulcet tones of the violin and his heart wept for her.
It wasn't until the final scene, when the prince and king started to face off against one another that he could seek her out. She was performing on the aerial silks, which explained her floating in the air and why it appeared no one on stage acknowledged her. She was performing only for the audience as she bent and contorted herself amongst the silks. Only when the prince and king raised their swords towards each other did she move to the floor, alerting them of her presence. She leaped towards them and through her motions Enjolras could see her pleading with them to end the violence, to seek peace with one another. However, what surprised him was the genuine expression of pain on her face. He was struck by it, it was so raw and truthful that for a second he felt transported back in time as if he were viewing history and not a show.
The music shifted, once again bringing in the bassoon. Its somber notes surrounded the violin, surrendering to it and protecting it at the same time. The prince dropped his sword, ready to end the bloodshed with the crass note of a single trumpet sounded out. The king had raised his sword, his aim on the prince and brought the sword down in victory. However, at the last moment Enjolras saw the girl leap in front of the sword, saving the prince. She fell back among the silks, allowing them to cradle her body and rock her gently to the floor. Enjolras had true tears in his eyes as he gazed at her face. She had the look of serenity one can only achieve in death, making it feel even more real to him and he continued on with his part. He was relying purely on memory as he ended the prince's life, his eyes never straying from the village girls face as the light cut out, ending the show.
It was weeks of the same thing, getting sucked into her dance, constantly trying to see her final number out of the corner of his eye, and even going as far as to find her after the show before he gave up and voiced his question to his new friends. They were a troupe called Les Amis and had been with the show from the start. Each member brought a different skill to the arena, all while having a fluidity and camaraderie that put most professional troupe to shame. It made them a fantastic addition to the show as a group of soldiers and Enjolras fit in with the seamlessly. Grantaire and Jehan were the rope dancers, which translated very well to them being scouts in the show. The rest fit into various acrobatic styles such as the hand-to-hand (Bahorel and Boussuet), swinging/Chinese pole (Courfeyrac), martial arts (Combeferre), and stage fighting (Joly and Feuilly).
Combeferre seemed to be the leader among the troupe and the calmest, which was the main reason Enjolras decided to ask him what the deal was with the mystery girl. He waited until it appeared everyone was busy practicing their numbers before quietly walking up to Combeferre.
"Hey, 'Ferre. Mind if I ask you a quick question?" He said softly, trying not to disturb the martial artist's chi.
Combeferre finished his routine with the elegance of bird before turning to address the pensive man.
"What do you need, Enjolras?"
Enjolras spoke quickly, as if he were speaking to himself instead of to Combeferre. "I was wondering… about that dancer, the one that plays the village girl. She is only listed by her first name, Éponine, in the program and that's it. There is nothing about previous works, which is odd because she's so good that she shouldn't have a problem finding work. And then there is the fact that no one sees her outside of the performance… it's like she just disappears into thin air."
Courfeyrac hopped down from his pole, "What, you mean you haven't heard the legend? Have you been living under a rock while you have been here?!"
Obviously he hadn't been quiet enough, Enjolras thought with a groan.
Grantaire landed gracefully from his rope before smacking Courfeyrac upside the head, "Of course he hasn't! He got here a month after the show started, after all the rumors had died down!"
Courfeyrac rubbed the back of his head, glaring at Grantaire.
The rest of the Amis stopped what they were doing and circled around the quartet. Enjolras was getting more than a little frustrated at not having received an answer yet.
"So… Is someone going to explain to me what the hell is going on?"
Combeferre was the first to answer him, all the other Amis shifting from side to side, not wanting to meet his eyes. "There is a rumor that there is more to this show that meets the eye."
Courfeyrac interrupted him, continuing the story with an excitement that rivaled a kid on Christmas morning.
"Yea! Apparently that chick is the real deal! Like she is really the girl!"
Grantaire stepped forward and glared at Courfeyrac, "If you are going to tell the damn story then tell it. And have some respect! Her name is Éponine, not some chick."
"Fine," he answered dejectedly.
He breathed deep with his diaphragm, regaining his small center of calm before continuing, "So, all we know is that one day we get an invitation to audition for this new, never-before-seen, show and obviously, we got the gig. Rehearsals started and we never saw any of the directors, nor the leading lady. All of us asked around, trying to catch people off their guard to get the true story, but no one knew any more that we did. Eventually we tried asking the choreographer, because we figured he must know something, but he would disappear into thin air after practice. Then comes opening night and suddenly there are these three performers we have never seen before. No one knew who they were, where they came from, or where they went after each show. Some of the stagehands swore they saw them vanish right before their eyes, but no one can seem to catch it again. In fact, the stagehands only saw it because one night the lighting was faulty and didn't go out at the precise moment at the end."
He stopped to take a breath before continuing solemnly, "Somehow, word got around about the legend. I don't really know who started it…" He trailed off.
Feuilly coughed, bringing the attention onto him, "Some say the directors were the ones that started it… but we have only seen them a handful of times, and only for a few seconds, so it's pure speculation."
Courfeyrac took back over, "It is said that Éponine is really the village girl from the story, that the entire thing is true, and the prince and rival king are trapped in this never ending dance with her as penance for all the lives lost because of their foolishness. They are forced to live their entire story each and every night for six months every fifty year. And they feel everything, it's not a show to them… so when Éponine gets cut down with the blade she feels it. Every. Single. Time."
He ran his hand through his curls, tears shining in his eyes, "The pain on her face isn't faked… I think that is what really convinced us that it might all be true. I mean, we are all professionals… we know what acting looks like. That level of pain… that shit can't be faked, nor that scream of anguish you hear from the prince. It's so raw… so revealing and vulnerable. I know we have all gotten used to it, but think back to that first night you preformed. It's jarring and you'll realize how real it was."
"I know it all makes us sound like superstitious actors, but no one has been able to offer a logical conclusion to it all and, what's that saying? If you have eliminated all the possible solutions…"
"The improbable remains." Joly finished for him.
"That and… I don't know if anyone else has noticed this or not… but no one flinches in that last scene." Combeferre stated, always the observer. "Most people, no matter how professional, flinch when they know an attack is coming. Those three don't, it's like they really living in the moment… being forced to carry out past actions as if it were the first time it was happening. Although, I suspect they are aware of the curse they bear and everything else is involuntary muscle action. Their bodies respond, independently dictating what they do in that moment, but their minds remember. I was watching the king one night, because no one ever watches him, and right before his sword comes down on Éponine his expression reflects his inner torment."
Enjolras looked at each of the Amis, taking in their grim expressions. "But what happens when the show ends? We only have another month to go for this run. There is also the question of technology. Everyone has cameras, phones, some sort of media device that records. Can't someone just record it and disprove all of this in the future?"
"They don't allow any portable devices into the show. They make everyone go through scanners, empty out their pockets, and check purses before anyone can enter. They say it's to preserve the integrity of the experience, allow you to immerse yourself into the world, but really it's so no one can record and compare footage years later. As for what happens when the run is over, no one knows. The only thing we have gotten were the letters they passed out yesterday saying the last day of performance and that our final check would be mailed to us." Marius piped up.
"They also told us to not bother coming in the next day to help with clean up. That the last day of performance was truly our last day." Bahorel added.
Enjolras continued getting lost in his thoughts, reflecting on what each of them said as they dispersed and started practicing again. He was determined to find out the truth one way or another. He had to know who she was.
*****
Two weeks had passed before Enjolras got a chance to put a plan into action. He claimed food poisoning so that he could take the night off, and seeing as how he was supposed to be getting sick around the clock so they didn't question him. He then bought a ticket for the show with the intent of sneaking backstage and confronting the mysterious Éponine.
He sat in the audience, his eyes transfixed on the stage. He knew the first half of the show by heart but it didn't stop him from getting sucked into the magic. He found it quite different being in the audience as opposed to the behind the stage, there was no veil of reality, no touch that could bring him back, just the music and her… and how beautiful she was. Enjolras eyes never left her, not even to critique his stand-in that couldn't seem to get the movements right and looked drastically out of place. She danced and swirled on stage as if she were floating on a dense cloud of air, whipping and twirling lightly around the prince. Even when she was not on stage Enjolras still felt himself drawn in by the music and the feats of strength and power being done on stage, luring him into the story.
The dissonant cords of the string section crashed out with unforgiving minor notes and the spell was momentarily broken, reminding Enjolras why he had taken the night off. The battle was commencing on stage, his friends performing at their best as they mimicked fighting taking place through a mix of their respective skills as the horn section blared its melody.
Then softly, the gentle hum of a violin could be heard. It was so faint that Enjolras almost missed it, but it was her theme. He looked frantically around the stage for her, trying to find her. He finally saw a figure move in the shadows and he knew it was her by the way the shadows seemed to follow her command. She was holding onto black silks for an aerial routine and for the first time Enjolras saw her face clearly. And it was heartbreaking. There was such sadness, such despair and guilt in her face that it was staggering. It was like she felt each individual's death, a little piece of her dying along with them.
No one on stage had noticed her yet, and he suspected that no one in the audience had either. While the audience was entranced by the story, they did not know it, nor her, as intimately as he did. All that was needed for him to connect with her, to feel her soul, was that simple violin line and he was hers. He watched her wrap herself in the silks, almost like she were trying to cocoon within them and save her from the memories, when in reality she was simply preparing to announce herself on stage, climbing up them expertly. But before she disappeared completely, he could see that one moment where she was not in character. Where she slipped because she didn't think anyone was looking, but he was. She looked resigned, like someone who knew the outcome of a story and didn't have any choice but to continue telling it. It was in that moment that Enjolras started to think that Courfeyrac's legend may have been right.
The battle continued on around her as if she were invisible, the only recognition she received being the violin line growing stronger as she spun around the silks, performing twists and turns so easily and fluid that most professionals couldn't begin to dream of.. Her performance was meant for the audience only, to have them share her grief over the events that occurred in the name of love. You could feel her guilt as she did the splits in the air or when she bent over backwards between both pieces of silk. You could feel her hope for peace as she held on with one hand and let the silk guide her around. She continued her routine for several minutes before letting the silks roll her back onto the edge of the stage.
The trumpet rang out as the prince called for the one-on-one match. As they fought Enjolras could see what Combeferre was talking about with their facial expressions. It was exactly as Combeferre described, they moved independently but their faces reflected their exhaustion and pain. He could see the prince tiring and he watched the last scene on stage in horror. He could see the terror on her face as she ran out in the middle, the love as she looked at her prince, the pain upon feeling the sword cut through her skin, and finally, that peace that came with death. He heard the violin singing her a sad farewell as the prince let out his anguished scream, a scream that shook Enjolras to the core, as he begged for death to take him in the end. He heard the swooshing sound of the sword coming down and then silence and darkness enveloped him. It was over.
When the lights came back on Enjolras realized he missed his chance, Éponine was already gone and it was all because he got caught up in the performance. He would have to come up with another way, and soon.
His final chance happened on the last night of the show. He knew that if he had tried any sooner it would garner suspicion so he waited patiently. He faked an ankle injury earlier that day in practice so that he could stick around back stage but not have to preform, keeping his ankle elevated anytime someone came near him.
He made sure to stay out of sight of the stage so he didn't get sucked in by her performance and when the final number came up he situated himself on the side of the stage that she was supposed to exit on and kept his eyes on her the entire time. He was determined to catch her after and finally get his chance to talk to her.
The anticipation kept building the closer it got to the end, the final note about to play-
"Enjolras! I thought you injured your ankle? Why are you standing on it, you know it's bad for you. It could be a career ender!" Joly's worried voice called out to him, distracting him for a single second.
His eyes strayed for a split second; purely a natural response to your name getting called suddenly and the lights went out. The only forms of light to see by were the dim stage lights for the performers to get around safely. His eyes snapped forward to the stage to find her, knowing that the only way for her to exit was to go by him. He hadn't seen her yet, so the only logical conclusion was that she hadn't left the stage yet.
But, when his eyes focused back to where she was supposed to be the lights came back on and she was already gone, leaving Enjolras with discouragement and uncertainty. Was she real… or was she the legend?