AN: So this is the "sequel" to my other story, Endless Waltz. You don't have to read that to enjoy this, but there will be minor references and call backs to certain things. Of course, if you do like this, feel free to check it out :). Another thing, this story will be a more experimental in format than the previous fics I've written so far but I'd love it if you give it a shot. As always, feedback and constructive criticism are my crack.
The Prelude
June 6, 1832
When dawn caressed their lifeless bodies at the barricade, it wasn't so much an end as it was a beginning. It wasn't so much that the streets had been stained with Eponine's blood as it was her spirit seeping back into the alleys and cobblestones of Paris. When they found Enjolras, the crimson flag of his doomed revolution still clutched in his fist, they threw his bullet-riddled body into a ditch with the other schoolboys. But it wasn't so much an ignominious death as it was a return to the earth of his beloved homeland.
Years later, when Cosette lay dying after giving birth to their third child, Marius held her hand and vowed his soul would never rest until he found her again. And then, when he too lay dying as an old man, he held the hands of his weeping children and told them he was flying home to all those who had gone before him.
He could not know that he had made such promises before, just as Enjolras could not know that he would always lay down his life for his country. Such was the way of men. For Eponine had never questioned the cold truth that she was forever doomed to fall in love with someone she could never have, and Cosette had always known that some part of her would be missing until Marius found her.
They kept living and dying, falling in and out of love with the ebb and flow of time.
But on that night at the barricade, as Enjolras watched a starving girl dressed as a boy breathe her last ragged breath, something deep in his soul knew that he had lost her before and would lose her again.
And as the last of her strength left her, Eponine tried to memorize the face of her one true love and finally understood that although her eyes were always open, she would always be blind.
They kept finding each other again and again in the darkness, only to lose each other in the cold morning light.
First Revolution—On the banks of the Somme, 1913-1916
Interlude—The Letters of Marius Pontmercy, Summer 1913
May 6, 1913
Dearest Nina,
I confess I have done you a great injustice. I have not kept my promise to write as often as I should, but I beg that you not be discouraged. Often, when I tire of the busy streets of Paris, I imagine us as children running through my grandfather's wood in search of great adventure. It is then that your letters of home bring me great comfort.
How is your brother? I am relieved to hear my grandfather has granted your petition that he be made our new stableboy this summer. There is no need for gratitude; I did nothing more than remind him our family will forever be in your father's debt for his courage. I trust your sister and mother are well—you did not mention them in your last letter.
By the time you receive this, I imagine I will have already completed my exams and preparations for the trip home. One day, you must travel to Paris and walk with me along the Seine. At night, the moonlight makes the pavements "gleam like silver." I have not forgotten how much of a poet you are. If memory serves, that is how you described the way the pebbles glittered in the stream when we were children.
I am eager to see you and grandfather; though whether he shall be glad to see me is another story entirely. But I will not bore you any further, as I am sure you have already heard enough on the matter. I pray that he is treating you well and that you are not overworked. You mustn't let him bully you or any of the other staff, no matter how loudly he may decree otherwise.
But as much as I long to once again visit the gardens at home, I know I shall miss Paris and my brothers here as soon as I return. They think me mad to return to the countryside when "war is upon us." I am not nearly as concerned about the situation in the Balkans, but I never had much love for foreign policy.
Do not worry. My friends have pure hearts that overflow with love for France. None so much as our esteemed leader Enjolras, who may visit for a fortnight in July. It is my greatest hope that I might introduce him to you. All of us among the ABC admire him greatly. Not a day goes by that he does not spend working toward a better tomorrow. And if that were not enough, he has the face of an angel—perhaps not unlike the painting of the Archangel Michael that hangs in the parlor. The ladies of Paris sigh at the very sight of him, with his long golden curls and dark azure eyes. To hear Grantaire tell it, he is a "savage Antinous" reborn.
But despite his upbringing among the Parisian elite, Enjolras is a staunch socialist at heart.
Oh, it is at times like these that I am agitated to think that if it were not for your sex, you might also be here studying the ways of the world. How I wish you could hear Enjolras speak on women's rights. He is a much more gifted orator than I when it comes to the God given freedoms denied to us by the oppressive regime of tradition. I'll confess; I've oft imagined you among England's suffragettes when I read of their valiant efforts to win the vote in the newspapers.
However, I am curious to see the niece of the new vicar, though I was saddened to hear of Monsieur Bienvenue's passing. I am intrigued as to what sort of person could elicit such disdain from my childhood friend, who has only ever shown me the sweetest kindness.
But I fear I must bid you adieu. I am presently late for a meeting and Enjolras does not look kindly upon tardiness.
Your friend,
Marius
June 28, 1913
Enjolras,
You cannot know how delighted I was to receive your letter. We would be honored to have you as our guest from the 16th of July. The country air shall do you a world of good; it cannot be at all healthy to continually breathe in the smoke and vapors of Paris. You shall have all the solitude you require at my grandfather's estate; none shall interrupt your grand and admirable work to free the less fortunate from the shackles of bourgeois tyranny.
I am also looking forward to introducing you to my childhood friend Eponine. And before you turn up your nose—yes, I am well aware of the disdain you harbor toward matchmaking and the fairer sex—she is in my grandfather's employ as head housemaid and was once my late mother's lady's maid. I assure you, you will not find a better muse for the injustice of inequality than my dear Nina. But don't tell her I told you that; she already chafes at the idea my grandfather employed her out of charity for the deeds of her honorable father, who saved mine from an untimely death when we were children.
We eagerly wait for word of your arrival. I am already missing Paris and it shall be a great comfort to see a familiar face.
Sincerely,
Marius Pontmercy
July 23, 1913
To my friends of the ABC,
Gossip is unbecoming of such a worthy group of men, but I know such admonishments fall on deaf ears. I must admit, however, I could not help but laugh after reading your letter, which I imagine was penned by a half drunken Jehan and an unusually sober Grantaire.
Not a word from any of you, besides Courfeyrac, this entire summer. Yet our fearless leader has been here less than a week and lo, a barrage of letters. Make no excuses; I know when I am unloved.
To answer your most pressing question: No, he does not take interest in the lovely ladies of the town—how can a man admire the fairer sex when he has no interest in leaving his books? Though I daresay he is popular among the women downstairs.
No, our steadfast leader remains devoted to his one true love. Every morning after breakfast, he takes a stroll in my grandfather's garden before barricading himself up in our library to write about the future of our beloved Patria. He does not stray from his studies until supper, where he is a courteous yet vocal opponent of my grandfather's many misconceptions. But I do not need to describe Enjolras' silver tongue to you, my dear friends. While my grandfather cannot see past Enjolras' (and my own) radical views, he has confessed that he finds him to be a fine young man.
Yet I protest your accusations of allowing our dear Enjolras to remain locked away in a dark tower of his own making. Two nights ago, after my grandfather had gone to bed, we walked down to the cottages where I introduced him to my childhood friend Eponine. I had rather hoped it would be a successful meeting as they resemble each other in temperament and wit. But I fear for all his charisma on the pulpit, Enjolras remains completely out of his depth among women.
You see my friends, Nina is not unlike the grisettes of old and works in the employ of my grandfather as head housemaid. But it is a farce that I go to university and she does not. And though she has never been anything but kind to me, she has a sharp tongue and is unafraid to lash out at any who deign to pity her. And though she is by no means a great beauty, she is not without her own charm. When her father first suggested we take her into our service, she was a small, sickly creature who was little more than skin and bones. She is still slender, but now there is strength in her every step. I find her most handsome feature to be her coffee-colored eyes, which have always seemed wiser than her years. Many a servant boy has been known to be smitten with her, though I would be pleased to make an introduction for any of you—except Grantaire, who I doubt would have any interest. I assure you that I have never gazed upon her with anything but friendship, and that she regards me only as a friend and brother.
But I digress. The introduction went well at first. Nina was eager to hear stories of all our Parisian exploits, and Enjolras is never one to pass up an opportunity to wax lyrical on the virtues of socialism. I daresay he was impressed with her ability to comprehend the basic tenets of socialism's more complex rhetoric. So you can imagine what fate lay before him when he asked Nina why she chose to toil in"thinly disguised slavery to a class in the midst of its death throes."
I have never seen my sweet, good-natured friend so angry, though upon further reflection, I believe she did not fully speak her mind to protect my honor. She sat there silent for a few moments, before saying:"Good monsieur, it is true that I shall never be a bourgeoisie mademoiselle, or a student at the Sorbonne, but you need not condescend to learn the plight of an obvious inferior such as myself."
Enjolras wasted no time in launching his rebuttal. Said he:"Mademoiselle, I did not mean any offense. I merely wished to open the eyes of one ignorant to her potential."
"Ignorant? I may not have the means to pay a university to give me a shield of paper, but I understand what is real and what is fantasy. Now I am tired, and must be up at dawn. I bid you both goodnight."
I do believe that was the first time Enjolras has ever been at a loss for words.
We were quiet on the walk back, and I admit I was quite cross with Nina for her lack of manners. I would have scolded her, but Enjolras implored me not to. This morning, he begged my forgiveness regarding the incident, and has been brooding ever since. Tonight, we shall entertain the new vicar as our guest, as well as his brother and niece. I only hope Enjolras has more experience conversing with "proper ladies," or I fear his notoriety in this house will only grow.
Sincerely,
Marius
July 25, 1913
Dear Mademoiselle Fauchelevent,
If you are reading this letter, then Eponine has managed to find you in time and for that I am grateful. I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies for the night you, your father and uncle dined at my grandfather's estate.
You must excuse my friend Enjolras. His heart is in the right place, but he is not accustomed to gentle company. He was bereft of his mother when he was just a babe, and his father had very little patience for raising a young boy. But as his friend, I would be remiss if I did not try to help him see the error of his ways and overcome these difficulties. He burns so fervently for his causes that he sometimes forgets that not all of us are so eager to be scorched by the flames of revolution.
He sends his sincerest apologies for any offense he might have given and his inability to apologize in person. Alas, my poor friend has been struck with a violent fever and must rest for the time being, so I humbly ask that you forgive him in his stead.
I was saddened to hear of your departure and that I will be unable to see you before I return to the Sorbonne. I rather enjoyed our conversation, and hope that you and your father will visit again—under more pleasant circumstances.
Sincerely,
Marius Pontmercy
August 10, 1913
My drunken friends,
Your laughter at our dear leader's expense is most unkind. But to say the dinner was a complete and utter disaster would not be entirely truthful.
The vicar, his brother and his niece arrived approximately one hour before we were to dine. My grandfather was away inspecting his businesses in Paris, so it was up to me to play the gracious host. The vicar is a pleasant, but rather quiet man so he did not make for much stimulation. His brother is likewise, rather taciturn. But unlike the vicar, I admit there is something strange about him. I have never seen a man his age so strong; he wore loose clothing, but it was not hard to see the hidden strength in his limbs as he walked. His hair was already peppered with silver, but he did not seem a day over 40. He carried himself with a great deal of importance, but what he may have done before entering his brother's service is a mystery.
How strange indeed. The vicar refers to him almost reverentially, as if he were a figure of authority, yet Monsieur Fauchelevent works as a simple gardener. Like his brother, he did not speak much, but once I inquired after his wife, he stopped talking altogether, much to the distress of his daughter.
His daughter...I don't know where to begin. From the moment she walked in it was as if the sun itself had burst into the room and filled it with the music of angels. I am no poet like Jehan, but if you had been there you might have known what it felt like to be struck to the bone in a moment of pure delight. But how can I describe her? How can one put down perfection into imperfect words?
Her hair is like spun gold, the color of wheat right before harvest, and her eyes...her eyes! A deep shade of cerulean that could rival the depths of the entire Atlantic. Her skin was paler than moonlight and smoother than ivory, with a healthy glow in the apples of her cheek that brought out the coral of her lips...
I could hardly eat...I did not hear anything of the conversation at dinner, so fixated I was on this beautiful creature. I tried to speak, but found myself unable to utter more than a few horribly mangled utterances. She did not seem to mind, and bestowed me with the privilege of her musical laughter. But I fear it is here where the story goes awry.
You see, Enjolras had barely spoken a word the entire evening. Mademoiselle Fauchelevent, in her infinite charity and kindness, noted his uncharacteristic taciturnity when he joined us in the parlor after dinner.
"Monsieur Enjolras," she said, "You seem unwell. Are you alright?"
He did not answer her, nor did he acknowledge hearing what she had said. But my angel was not to be deterred, and repeated her inquiry.
And if you can believe it, our dear leader replied thusly: "Mademoiselle, I heard you the first time. I am not deaf. And my wellbeing is none of your concern."
"I am sorry, monsieur. I-I did not mean to offend. I was merely—"
"I thank you for your concern, but it is wholly unnecessary."
It was here that I interjected on behalf of Mademoiselle Fauchelevent. As temperamental as Enjolras can be, I honestly did not expect him to say what he did next.
"If you are quite done, find me when you're done fawning over the girl and remember what is actually important."
I quickly explained that Enjolras was referring to France and the threat imposed by Germany, as well as the recent upheaval in the Balkans. She laughed, though it was not as carefree as before. Mademoiselle Fauchelevent was gracious enough to try and hide her distress, but I could see Enjolras' cold words had shaken her. To my eternal regret, her father soon remarked it was time to leave and there was no conversation after that. I imagine he saw or heard the entire exchange, for he fixed a cold stare in Enjolras' direction.
You can imagine my frustration. I would venture to say Enjolras is incapable of love if I did not know better. But despite that, I have discovered the face of true beauty in Mademoiselle Fauchelevent. So I cannot say it was a complete disaster.
I would have reprimanded our leader quite severely if he had not been suddenly struck with a mysterious and violent fever later that night. The doctor couldn't make heads or tails of what caused it, but thankfully, Enjolras swiftly recovered after I entrusted him to Nina's care. They seem to have gained a tentative understanding from the ordeal, though I doubt they shall ever be true friends.
Sincerely,
Marius
September 14, 1913
Dearest Nina,
You are a wonderful, wonderful friend!
Imagine my joy when I opened your letter to also find a reply from my darling Cosette! I have enclosed a reply with this letter, as I do not think her father would approve if I sent one directly...How can I ever repay you? When I am next home, you must tell me your greatest wish and I will do everything in my power to grant it. Anything, Nina. Anything at all.
Oh, and Enjolras bade me to tell you he is "exceedingly grateful" for your care when he was ill. And to remind you that "Fools cannot see what is right before their eyes, but only an idiot would choose to remain blind." He said you would know what that meant, though I admit I am greatly puzzled. Has someone slighted you? He would be a fool, Nina. Half the boys in town would fall at your feet if you would let them.
-Marius
AN: So yeah. I said it was experimental. Next chapter is a bit more traditional. I've done a butt-ton of research for this and picked the dates and stuff accordingly, but my knowledge of European history is tenuous in certain areas. Please let me know if I've got some of this stuff compppleeetely wrong.