Javert was not a villain. He was not a crook or a murderer, and he wished no-one to come to harm that they did not deserve, not for his own gain or for anyone else's. The roots of Javert were dug deep in the world of law. As far as he was concerned, the law was what was right. It was an external force that decided what was good and what was evil. It didn't have a heart or a consciousness, it simply was. It was immutable and unchangeable and Javert believed in it wholeheartedly. And yet, while Javert was simply a man of strict principle, he was regarded as a solely evil force, as if he was incapable of emotions. Javert was not incapable of emotions, he just knew he couldn't show them. If the law was immutable and emotionless, and he was to uphold the law, he too had to lack emotion. So, this is what he did. Everywhere. Almost.
On the night of his release from his captors by the escaped convict Jean Valjean, Javert was fighting an internal battle with his very soul. The core of his being was being challenged by the actions of a man who was morally good, but lawfully evil. This began to drive Javert to madness as he paced the streets alone. After running from the barricades he was too ashamed to return to his men straight away, and instead seeked comfort in his own company. However it was this companion that tortured him with the slow poison of self-doubt. Javert was brought to physical pain by his self-loathing, and this made him sluggish. Although he had no destination, he felt his steps slowing and becoming aimless. Priding himself on his keen, sharp mind, this doubt would not do. He figured that a small rest may cause it to yield and he could return to his duty fresh, not plagued with thoughts that had the potential to shatter his very existence.
As he rested in an abandoned house, all but decimated by the "call to arms", he found solace in the idea that these doubts were nothing but passing trade. Javert had been one man, with one philosophy, as long as he could remember. He could not afford to sow the seeds of doubt, as they'd surely wreak havoc on his soul. As he drifted off to sleep, he truly, with every ounce of his being, hoped that when he awoke he would once again be able to hunt Jean Valjean, and know who he was.
Sleep.
The dark.
A light.
Valjean's subconscious. In his dream, he lay in a bed much more comfortable than the wooden planks in reality. He was awake. He looked around. It was a hospital. Not unlike, in fact, the one where he confronted Jean Valjean, at the bed of the unknown woman that Valjean so cared for. Javert lay on his back and stared around him. He attempted to stand up.
"Rest, soldier, your soul is more weary than your body."
A voice from a woman with her hand on his chest. He looked at her. It was the unknown woman, the one who had died. She was the same, but now she was alive, and beautiful. She had an ethereal glow about her.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Valjean questioned.
"Your mind is sick, and I am here to help you heal."
This idea sickened Javert. He wasn't ill! He was perfectly able to perform his duty! How could he not be!
Javert sat up and got out of the bed. The woman attempted to restrain him again but he brushed her off of him.
"Angel or demon, either way madam, I do not seek your comfort. I wish to awaken."
"Unfortunately even a man as forceful as you cannot control these matters." The woman said, serene. She seemed unphased by Javert's rage. This was not what he wanted. He wanted to be free of doubt, and he didn't want it to be manifested in spectral form.
"I doubt that. I have been the master of my own mind up until now and you can't change that." Javert said. He marched towards the door at one end of the long hospital corridor. He opened it and walked through it. He came out the door on the other end of the room. This dream only existed inside this room, and there was indeed no escape. Javert did this multiple times, and each time, he got angrier. The woman did not restrain him, but instead let him tire himself out, until he was running down the corridor, over and over again.
Eventually, he buckled. He physically reached the point of collapse, as his legs gave way under him. Javert clattered to the ground, the mighty warrior weakened. Javert clutched on to a bedpost and pulled himself to his feet.
"I fail to see this dream as educational, madam. I beg of you, let me awaken and return to the all-the-more real nightmare that is my present existence." Javert pleaded to the woman. She simply smiled at him.
"This is your dream, not mine. You will awaken when you are ready." She said. This sent Javert's blood boiling. He charged at the woman with his remaining strength and gripped the wall, pausing mere millimetres in front of her. He roared in her face.
"YOU DEVIL, LET ME GO. MY NAME IS JAVERT AND I AM AN OFFICER OF THE LAW. MY WORD IS IRREFUTABLE AND I DEMAND YOU DO AS I COMMAND."
The woman did not respond.
When Javert eventually moved away, he finally rested. He sat down on the bed.
"It is my duty to hunt Valjean and that is exactly what I will do. It has been and will continue to be my life. The law made me who I am. The law formed me, and moulded me from a wretch. I was nothing but a crawling ball of misery and depravity, but in the eyes of the law I was a citizen. Under it's watchful eye I could build myself a good and moral life, and raise myself up to a position of power. The law has given me everything, and I must repay my debt by doing it's bidding." Javert said, attempting to convince himself out of this nightmare. There was a long silence.
"You talk as if the law has no master. As if there is no higher power." She says. She moves over to Javert and stands opposite him. For the first time, someone was talking down to Inspector Javert. "But the law serves a master and repays a debt of it's own. The law is intended to enforce a moral code, it's intention is to make us good people". The voice was that of the woman, but Javert could tell from the choice of words that the mind was his own. He delivered the devastating words to himself, through a beautiful vessel.
"Surely you must consider what would be better: to serve the law, or to serve the law's master?" she said. Javert's head dropped into his open palms.
"Why do you torture me like this? I served a purpose, and now you make me doubt it? What cause do you have?" Javert said, close to tears.
"I want you to do what is right, and follow a law greater than that enforced by any man. A moral law." She said. Javert looked up at her, his eyes red.
"But won't that betray the very core of my being?" he asked.
The woman nodded, as if that was argument enough. Javert bowed his head. He closed his eyes. He felt his mind being swayed to the side of moral law. He felt his life and his world crumbling, all in service of some higher power beyond his control. It sickened him. It killed him. He felt himself growing weak.
The dark.
A light.
Javert awoke, and searched for Jean Valjean.