To those who have followed and reviewed and favorite'd, I think you sincerely for all. You have made this hobby of mine mean something.

Please bear with me for a few days, I am in the process of combining chapters. Because I wrote this in the style of Hugo, all of my chapters are short events. I've reached my document limit, thus I am having to combine two chapters into one. Thanks for your patience!

Authors Note:

This is my first foray into fanfic. A healthy mix of both the book and musical, I have written a parallel centering upon the woman who breached the impenetrable walls of Enjolras; the strong woman who completes him.

Expect stylistic writing like Hugo in places, quotes from the book and musical, along with my own voice and spin. Chapters are added every few days as I finish editing them to my ridiculously high standards (never satisfied).

It's important for me to add that once we get to the barricade, I refused to deviate from some of the dialogue Hugo wrote as I parallel some of the most profound moments. Anything that is quoted that is not dialogue, you will find in italics, but the dialogue in a few areas just could be no other way. I have only borrowed this story and hope I have not tarnished the brilliant work Hugo created.

I would love your feedback, love your PM's, love your favorites and follows. I sincerely hope you enjoy this ride as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Thank you.

BOOK ONE:

TWO MIRRORS

"Woe to the love-affair which should have risked itself beside him . . ."

The Return of Aurelie to Paris

She could feel him, always.

There was an abrupt halt in Saint Sever, people in the streets inadvertently blocking passage for the many carriages around the one Aurelie rode in. It had been five weeks since Aurelie had been in Paris, and it had taken a week of travel to arrive. She'd been exhausted by the days but unable to sleep at night with her anticipation to return. There were times the hooves could lull her to sleep, but it was when the carriage came to a halt that she awoke, looking through the sea of people.

"Excuse me, Monsieur," Aurelie said, leaning through the front window to address the driver. "What is the hold up here?"

The driver leaned back and turned his head without looking at her, keeping the reigns held loosely in his hands. "It seems there is a rally a few blocks ahead, Mam'selle Beaulieu. We are at a standstill."

It was no longer a mystery as to why she'd felt him now, no longer a dream but a pleasant reality. That, along with a stark realization that this delay was no doubt his handiwork. He'd always been able to stop the world around him, if even just in passing. He could draw the eye and leave the beholder wondering in the next moment exactly what had just happened to them.

When she saw little Gavroche dart past her carriage, she slid to the window on her right and stuck her head out the window, watching him as he weaved through the crowd the way only a street urchin could. Gavroche lived in the Elephant of Bastille along with many other children left either abandoned or orphaned.

She wanted very much to call after the boy, but only caught her voice when he was well out of range. Suddenly her body swelled with the acute need to get out at once.

"The police will be by any time now," she heard the driver call to her, barely catching him over the noise of the crowd. "We will be on our way presently."

"No need," Aurelie said, placing her burgundy hat atop her head and pinning it in place. "You'll take my belongings to rue Saint-Martin: the Café Musain. Ask for Madame Huchloup, they will be safe with her."

"But Mam'selle Beau—"

The driver had been paid for their journey with the money Aurelie still had stashed from her previous life, though she behaved in Paris as though she had none. Still, she drew out her coin purse and handed the driver a few francs so he would not argue.

"From here I will walk," she insisted, then opened the door and dashed out of the carriage.

Anyone leaving a carriage was noticed, as it was only the wealthy who could afford one. Though her parents were dead and their title stripped, her name still held prestige, which was the only reason she would use it in a carriage. It was at home that she used another.

But Aurelie would have gone noticed in a crowd be it exiting a carriage or roaming the streets. A stunningly beautiful woman of twenty years, many believed they were seeing God's angel in human form. Her hair was a yellow that, at times, seemed unnatural with how it shined. Her brows were entirely clever, adept in both deep contemplation and sheer joy, and great misfortune to one she looked upon with disdain. The occasions she had made use of this look could be counted on one hand. Instead she brightened the world around her with lips that turned into the sweetest of smiles; a true smile, never forced. Her skin had the healthy glow of a young woman who knew the secret to a peaceful world and was most certainly in love. She could assume both childlike and womanly posture without ever a change in frame, always carrying herself with great poise. She never slumped, never turned a nose, never tucked a chin. Her frame held the gentility of a woman to soothe a newborn along with the strength enough of a man to strike fear in anyone who dare cross her. She was gentle and capable of being a monster, should the time arise. She would fight for her beliefs if it meant striking a man dead, while still empathetic with the plight of all men in all walks of life. She did not kill spiders that snuck into her room at night, saved earthworms from a downpour. She would kick a cat that chased a living mouse as she would spit at a man who beat a woman. She was not above punching like a man and could easily aim a weapon. She was a contradiction of nature; a benign warrior. Honest at times to a fault, though never to the point of insult. Well-guarded with secrets of her own and of others. Easily able to walk the fine line between an open book and a mystery. Duty to family came before her own happiness, and she would have loved a man she did not love if necessary. But in her happiness shined a light more powerful than the sun. Having been unable to attend university, she studied harder than any student paying tuition, and things that came easy to them came even easier to her. She was passionate about passion, and those who had a passion for any topic she would indulge with her own passion, making her well-loved for her brains, beauty, strength and honor.

In summation, Aurelie was perfectly unique with every virtue a woman or man can possess.

Aurelie paid no attention to those who gawked at her; those who hated the wealthy for the oppression upon poor. She was one of them now, and had always been in her heart and soul. And she did not look back at the carriage, paid no mind if her belongings were poached. She'd never taken issue to those who took, as they needed what they could to survive in this wretched world.

Following the steps of Gavroche, though quite far behind, she made her way up the street until General Lamarque's residence was in sight. She'd heard word of his illness, and before leaving her brother, they had discussed at length what this would mean. He was quite upset he could not join her, but there was no other way. Cholera was spreading through the population, and Benoit had been helping their cousins at their farm in Southern France. They were ill there, and while she'd offered to stay longer, she was glad Benoit insisted she return to Paris.

"To be with Enjolras," her brother had said, taking her hand. "He will need you more than me."

"That's not true," she'd argued. "He needs soldiers, not a woman."

"Quite the opposite, my sister," Benoit had replied. "He needs your love. I learned that once he had it, he was lost without it. He has soldiers in abundance, but at the end of the day, there is only you."

He had shut the door to her carriage the following morning and insisted that she stay safe. He'd always been fearful for Aurelie and Enjolras, for love mixed with determination for a larger cause could be a combination that would leave one devastated. But he would not argue against their love, as it was their love that left them unable to survive without the other.

It was only when Aurelie saw Enjolras and Marius on the podium that she halted as though she'd hit a wall. Left with little breath after her jaunt through the masses, it was only he who could take the rest and leave her breathless.

There were few times Enjolras and Marius both dressed in their finest. Both were rich, both had dashing looks and style. But they preferred a night in a humid room with their buttons loose, sweat beading and words inflaming. But these times—visiting their fellow dissenters, proper dinners, attending classes and speaking at rallies—this was when they not only shined with fine clothing, they shined the way men with determination and fierce beliefs shone. It was these occasions that they would button their vests and tie their cravats, adding a jacket of brilliant color so eyes would be drawn. Today, Enjolras wore a maroon jacket festooned with golden buttons over a shiny silk blue vest. Marius wore the reverse.

A rally was taking place in front of General Lamarque's house with people either flocking to or away from the speakers.

"The bourgeois find it necessary for you to be poor, because if you had wealth, you would be their equals. You would have a voice, of which you have none of now. But the masses can cry out louder than the few, and it is time that our voices are heard!"

Marius tacked onto Enjolras' statement:

"Where exactly is our king? Do we see him? We hear him through our papers, and the mouths of the puppets! Has he stepped from the confines of his tower since his election? He refuses to see what is happening below, for if he did, it would haunt his dreams."

"Citizens, only one man has spoken for you!" Enjolras cried, gripping a pamphlet in his hands so tightly that his knuckles went white. He gestured with strength to the building behind. "General Lamarque, the voice of the people! I've heard he will last but a week now, and we must rise to take his place. We will no longer go unheard! Vive la France!"

This chant went echoed, each time with more volume and strength in the numbers. Chin infinitesimally tucked in an amused sort of pride, Aurelie smiled all knowingly without a glance at the others. She was very much one of them, would be no matter how she dressed or what tower she lived in. The only difference was that her circumstance had been a choice made, not forced.

"I never sleep anymore. I spend my entire night making cartridges," one man had told Enjolras.

A worker he'd met at the barriere du Maine had pulled together one hundred and fifty francs just by having each man throw in ten sous, every coin going to making muskets and powder.

The pyre had been built one plan at a time; all the plot needed now was a sign. One spark to stoke the flames, and when Enjolras wasn't out with his lieutenants spreading the word to leaders, he was speaking atop anything he could climb on to get a head taller, addressing the people.

Jaw set in determination, Enjolras halted his chanting and looked over the crowd, nodding to them, giving them his approval with tenacity. Approval from Enjolras was craved by all, and could sustain the weakest for the rest of their lives.

Despite his ability to be terrifying, Enjolras was irresistible in both beauty and personage. A man of twenty-three years who had completed his law degree two years early and still continued to study the art, he was more intelligent than his elderly professors while appearing to be seventeen. His frame was slim, but held the muscle of God's hand. He spoke of the world as if he had experienced every territory on this fine earth, and while he hadn't been far from France, he had been everywhere. All knowing, almighty. His perfection in appearance began with wildly maintained golden curls atop his head and ended with beauty to his little toe. Between you would find a high brow, knowledgeable eyes with the fiery passion of red on his lids, a lower lip that could push forward with disdain. His youth was effective, his mind restless. He could not soak up enough information to ever be content and would die with the answer to the universe while still coaxing a question that would leave scholars stumped over how to respond. He was a soldier, a patriot and a martyr. He lived for the republic and would die lashing out. His wit could sting, his sternness could burn. It was impossible to intimidate him, impossible to win an argument you've won, impossible to love him and impossible to hate him. He maintained a proper distance from individuals while loving the population. Dogmatic, arrogant, confident, unyielding, combative. All of these things and still men and women alike were desperate to hear but a word from his lips. More feared when he was silent than while speaking, just as a loaded gun is more fearsome than the moment it's fired; there is relief in the firing able to be reconciled. Still, beneath all, he had a heart he dared not show. He despised his greatness and his heart; they both impeded on any chance for a life of normalcy. He was a judge who tried all men and sentenced them as what they were to their fingertips, while still having a heart for all plights. This was a fine man. An achievement of excellence. Unaffected and untouchable. Incomparable and paramount. A wall unable to be breached. Unable to be breached by all but his own reflection.

His mirror was the only human who conquered him.

When his vision locked on Aurelie, he wet his lips with determination, then resumed his chanting with more vigor than before. Perhaps it was his wish to put on a show for her alone, strutting like a peacock for a mate. Maybe it was she who gave him the extra push to fiercely fight. Conceivably it was just as possible that it was done to compensate for any momentary weakness.

It mattered not to Aurelie. If any were the case in equal measure, all three made her equally as happy. All were strength, and Enjolras was the pillar of exactly that. He could easily slide into whatever role placed upon him and have the strength aimed properly. In studies, he was strong. In public, he was strong. In private, he was strong.

He had seen her, she had seen him, and while the world was very wrong, between the two of them it was exactly right. They'd both thought themselves whole until they'd met, then harshly realized they'd never be whole again if not together.

Hidden love does not equate distress. It does not mean a party is embarrassed or ashamed. There is sanctity in secret, and when both parties agree the secret is of value to keep, it can be more momentous between the two than had it been shouted from the rooftops. Their secret was a second thing they could share with only the other, the first being the love itself. Their secret was as intimate as intimacy alone.

They did not need shouts nor whispers to connect here at Saint Sever; eye contact was sufficient, and in these times, every emotion was conveyed with this simple glance. He was thrilled she had returned, she was delighted to be home. She was proud to return finding him exactly as she'd left him, he was elated to see the face he'd missed so much.

There had been little time to think of her, but she was present with every action he made. And at night, while alone, he would set aside time before he slumbered to think only of her, and many nights, without knowing it, she was thinking of him at the very same time.

As the driver had said, the police arrived to break up the rally in the next minute, and people began to scatter. Aurelie dodged away from the horses, grabbing the hand of a woman beside her to pull her to safety as they charged in. Her vision was now obscured, but they were separated often and she could take care of herself. So once the horse was out of the way, she didn't even bother to look for him. It was a time to scatter, not a time to panic.

Panic inflames.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," the woman said to Aurelie, nearly taking to a bow. She was very poor, her hand had felt bristly in Aurelie's, and she wore clothes that she'd once worn in a sewing shop, but were now covered in dirt. This was a clear sign that she had been dismissed and was likely living on the street.

Aurelie placed a few sous into her palm, then shut it with both hands. "I hope this helps," she said.

"Oh, Mademoiselle," the woman cried in gratitude. "I hope they're right. About changing things for the better."

Smiling, Aurelie replied, "I believe they will."

The woman hurried away. Aurelie's eyes followed her to a building, where two young children had been waiting, and the woman was exclaiming to them over the coins she'd received, then was on her way.

Still, Aurelie was not safe here. Dressed like the poor, she'd have had to fear the police. Be that as it may, she was dressed like the rich in her travelling attire, however worn down it was from the years, and the rich had just as much to fear in a crowd like this. Facing the police was a daily struggle for the poor. Facing the people en masse as it was left her open to be taunted and robbed to the point of violence.

She was very rich. She hid it, even from her brother. But it was there.

A Brief History through the Eyes of a Child

"Gavroche!" Aurelie called, spotting the tiny boy running with others his age toward Bastille Square. He turned to her, looking down on her with the narrowed eyes of despise, even though he was half her height. She hurried over to him. "It's me, Aurelie."

"Aurelie, looking all fine and proper!" he cried, brows low in disbelief. "When'd you get in?"

"Just now," Aurelie said. She gestured with her head. "Are you willing to be seen with me long enough to escort me to rue Saint-Martin?"

He laughed as though the thought was inconceivable. To this, Aurelie added, "There's a hot supper in it for you."

She needed no escort, only the boy's company on the long walk to the slums of Saint Michel. Little Gavroche was able to slip through shadows. He knew things, noticed things that others did not. He would be her only chance at catching up with the world she'd been away from with the honesty only a child could provide.

"I'll take you up on that, Mam'selle," Gavroche said with a deliberate nod. His friends were calling after him, and he yelled back, "I'll be dining fine tonight, boys!" using his needle-like elbow to jab Aurelie's waist.

Once free of the crowd, their pace slowed, though Gavroche and his boundless energy skated back and forth in front of Aurelie with his arms out like a bird, unwilling to match her stride as he kicked rocks along the pavement.

"I've missed quite a lot," Aurelie said to the back of his head; a dirty dishwater color that was just as soiled. "Yet I return to see what had only just started. Tell me of the world, Monsignor."

Gavroche turned around, laced his fingers with his pointers aimed at her stomach. "You see, it's like this: King Louis-Philippe is being a king, so really no election took place at all, only . . . I'm not sure anyone knew it."

"I knew it," she responded. "When you vote in a chamber, and they vote in a monarch, you receive a monarchy once again."

"Democracy is a farce," Gavroche stated firmly.

"And what of Lamarque?"

"He is dead soon," Gavroche said, his large wide-set eyes up in hers, though not in wonder. Simple fact. "Were you here when the planning began for the barricades?"

"I was not," Aurelie said. "I received a hint at it in a letter, because when talking of an uprising, words cannot be written."

"Who wrote you of it?"

"You know who."

Gavroche narrowed his eyes in what appeared to be annoyance and disgust. "I'll keep that a secret until I die simply because I don't even want to think about it."

Aurelie laughed airily. She shared a secret, but little people are always more perceptive than those older, and he not only had the open mind of a child, he held an old perceptive soul.

"On a change of subject, Enjolras has left his studies," Gavroche told her, not changing the subject at all, just changing direction. "He's called it a leave and is turning his tuition money into our new currency."

"Which is?"

"Munitions," Gavroche said with a wink.

"Ah, of course."

"Can we not run for it?" the boy demanded impatiently.

"Not today, little monsignor," Aurelie said with a soft heart. "What of the others?"

Gavroche sagged his shoulders, but rallied as he turned from her. Found a stone worth kicking. "All the same," he said with his back to her. "I'd say school is out for summer. I prefer my school outside in the daylight instead of holed up behind walls. Don't see why they go at all."

"You will at one point," Aurelie told him wistfully. As a woman, she could not attend university. It had been one of the primary reasons Aurelie had begged her brother to move to Paris, so she could learn through his books instead of his letters. "You know of the street, and you know of the world. But someday you'll want to see the world through the history of others."

Gavroche shrugged. "I see history up close. Who needs the words when I have two eyes in my head."

"Does anyone outside the Les Amis know what's to happen?" Aurelie asked. The entire point of her escort was to get the news, not to argue the merits of higher education. In all honesty, Gavroche had a point well made.

"Anyone worth having knows," Gavroche answered. "They're all over the place, every arrondissement. If you mean the government, I believe that is another safe secret. No one would share anything with them. Even if they did they'd be punished just for knowing of it."

"It seems to me that trust is one-fold only," Aurelie agreed. "So with Lamarque ill, has it become better or worse?"

"Little of both," said Gavroche. "Worse with the tension, better from it. Won't be long now. Have you got any bread?"

In the most ladylike way achievable in her long, thick dress, Aurelie kicked out her leg, catching his ankle. He did not falter, only smiled.

"Supper, then," he said, then laughed hysterically. "An escort for you, food for me. Who needs charity?"

"Lot of protecting you're doing," Aurelie said with a grin, noting this at exactly the moment Gavroche found another rock to kick. "Are these rocks a danger?"

"Wouldn't want you to trip, all fine as you are today," he said. Aurelie nodded that this was a proper answer. "Did you always have these clothes?"

"Yes," Aurelie answered. "I had finer, once. You may not know this, but I was one of them."

Gavroche shrugged. "Figured that at some point. Marius too. Takes the rich flipping sides to really know Enjolras is right."

Every choice had been hers to make, but one choice had been forced on Benoit. He'd not allowed her to come live with him while her father was imprisoned. It took his death for Benoit to concede, as she had nowhere else to go but her cousin's farm. It was funny the tradeoff that had happened; Benoit had not forced his sister to live on a farm, yet had ended up stuck doing his duty for what family they had left when needed. But they were always very ill, he was a doctor, and had the physical strength to work the farm while they were fighting their weak immune systems with every coming cold.

So it wasn't exactly a flip of sides; it had been a choice. The distinction was that it was impossible for Aurelie to flip when she'd had it in her to be one of them all along. It had been her father's dissent from the government that had imprisoned him, and had he lived a few more months, he would have been free after the election. Under the guise that there was freedom, which only lasted a few months before power once again corrupted.

"Tell me about the days, Gavroche," Aurelie ordered.

"Well spent," Gavroche nodded firmly. "If it's not a day of travel to light a fire in other men, it's a day learning of the governments moves."

"And the nights?"

"Well spent," Gavroche repeated. "They drink, gamble and argue. I point and laugh."

"And the hours between?"

Gavroche slumped a little.

"Cold."

Aurelie's heart ached for the smart little man. They'd all offered a bed at some point; it was only on rare occasions Gavroche would take up Courfeyrac's spare room. Some part of Courfeyrac had a larger heart for Gavroche, and the only whisper she'd heard of it had said Courfeyrac had lost his brother a few years back. He would have been Gavroche's age, and so they'd found a brother in each other.

"Life in an elephant must be very strange," Aurelie said instead of offering up a room for the umpteenth time. He'd always declined, and would continue to do so. The street urchin had a sense of pride that was unheard of in orphans his age.

"It does me just fine," Gavroche stated. "I've caught you up, the rest you can hear from the man himself. Can we not run now?"

"You've done your duty well, little monsignor," Aurelie assented. "I'm caught up. Now let me catch up with you."

With this, Gavroche ran down the block. He'd pause to wait because he was honoring the trade, but the second she reached him, he was off again.

Bait and Switch

Enjolras leaned against the brick of Aurelie's apartment building. There had been no chance of looking after her at the rally today as he should have when he'd found she was there, but he did not fear for her. She was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to be, without a doubt his equal. While he'd had to run as to not be nagged by the police, he knew very well that it was only a matter of time before she returned home.

But he had expected her to come in her carriage rather than having little Gavroche skip in circles around her as they turned the corner from Rue du Mont Saint-Michel. And the second he saw her, he turned away as to not appear as though he'd been looking.

"Here we are, safe and sound," Gavroche said to Enjolras once in front of him. Aurelie did little more than raise a brow at Enjolras. "Now, about supper."

"I keep my promises, Monsignor," Aurelie said, then looked at Enjolras as though it were any other day, and they were not very much in love, and she did not feel a need to embrace him for the next five weeks to make up for the last. "Would you like to join us, Monsieur?"

"I'm waiting for Marius," Enjolras said, nodding up at her building, saying this as though it were any other day and they were not very much in love, and he did not feel a need to embrace her for the next five weeks to make up for the last. "It's good to see you home, Aurelie. How is your brother?"

"I'm quite hungry."

Aurelie laughed at Gavroche, looking at him endearingly. "Benoit is well," she answered. "He sends his deep regrets that he cannot be here with you, as you know he would be with what is to come."

"I've never once doubted him," Enjolras responded. "You can write to him the regret is shared. And we have a meeting presently, so perhaps you can let me in to break down Marius' door?"

Aurelie opened the door to her building, which was held in turn by Enjolras to let her pass.

"And supper?" Gavroche cried.

"I'll be down in minutes for our date," Aurelie promised, then held the sides of her skirt out. "I just need a change of attire, as I know it's been very hard for you to be seen with me in this."

"A coin and I'll meet you?"

Enjolras looked sternly at the young one. "Patience, Gavroche. If she's not out by the time I am with Monsieur Marius, I will pay her debt."

The second the door had closed behind them, Enjolras grabbed Aurelie's hand and pulled her close. "Not much I can do with this hat of yours," he whispered, tipping it to the side. "But I honestly have no idea where Marius is, and at this moment, I don't care."

Biting her lip in glee, Aurelie released herself from his hold and ran up the stairs. She was glad she'd saved the little energy she had after travelling so they could now hurry to her room.

Just as Aurelie had reached up to take off her burgundy hat, Enjolras snagged her hand, the door now closed and in the privacy of her room. She turned to him as he diligently set to work locating her hatpin, him preferring an element of control; something she gave permission of and only allowed to him. Once it had been fingered, he removed it and set it down with the hat on her little dresser.

He cradled her face a second later.

"I know there are times you think I don't miss you, but I assure you: I missed you very much," he said. Taking one hand to her thin waist, he gently pulled her close and laid the sweetest kiss on her lips.

It had been said by women and men alike that Enjolras' lips had touched nothing but food or drink, but she knew better. Somehow his breath was always sweet, a treat when she considered the many men she'd serve drinks to at Café Musain where she strived to earn her coins instead of relying on those stashed away. Even his mouth defied all logic; his teeth straight and white, his lips soft in a hard world. Oh, how she'd missed the taste of them, craved it nightly as she'd lay awake in her bed and pray for his safety.

They swiftly turned from delicate to reckless in their kiss, and Aurelie wasn't exactly sure if she could contain herself. It was only when she realized he'd backed her against the wall, which had gone unnoticed for at least a minute before it struck her, that she finally laid her hand on his chest and gently pushed him away.

"You have your meeting, I have my date," Aurelie said, deftly releasing herself from the wall, having to duck under his arm where he'd planted his hand against the boards. "But you were missed passionately, my love. And we'll discuss how much later tonight."

These were the words of a strong woman who felt no need to hide the wickedest of thoughts, and Enjolras greatly respected that she didn't mince words in the way so many girls would around him.

Alone, they didn't need to mince words at all. Six months after she'd moved here, they'd kneeled in a church to swear their love and allegiance, offer the other vows to love and to hold. This was done between them and only to the ears of God. But it was a marriage, and a marriage that had been consummated that night with great flair.

"You're going to send me to a talk of war with that?" Enjolras asked, gaping at her. "Your cruelty astounds me."

Aurelie smiled at herself in the mirror as she removed her jacket. She could keep her chemise as is, though desperately wanted to bathe. Unfortunately, little Gavroche was waiting below. Retrieving one of her well-worn corsets and a skirt, she began to dress.

"It'll give you a reason to return quickly," Aurelie said, fastening her clothes.

Aurelie had a secret of her own she felt necessary to share tonight, though she feared his reaction. She'd spent much of her time at the farm debating on when she would tell him that she had not bled for three months and had been too guarded to bring it to her brother. It was the first time in her life she felt any sort of fear, and it was easy to assume Enjolras would not take it well.

He lived for a purpose, and one purpose only. That purpose was not to love her, though he did. She was not so naïve to think this meant they would run from Paris and live happily in the country away from the discontent, and she would have it no other way. The debate was if she'd tell him at all. From what she'd heard, his war was on the horizon. And there was an urge to wait until they knew the outcome of it all before he got any ideas of what was proper. Enjolras was not meant to lead an ordinary life of a family man.

Once dressed, Aurelie kissed Enjolras once more. "I think it's better that I leave first, since you will have no Monsieur Marius trailing you after allegedly breaking through his door. I'll be off with Gavroche."

"And I'll be on the second floor above you," Enjolras said, then smiled with a different excitement. "We're very close to the beginning, Aurelie."

Aurelie nodded, didn't allow him to catch her frown. "Or the end," she said, tapping the knob a few times before opening the door and exiting her room.

The tavern was loud already with drunkards, not atypical for the Café Musain. In the evening, coins that had been begged or stolen were spent here by anyone who lived in Saint-Michel, be it in a house, apartment or on the street.

After locating the Widow Huchloup, Aurelie was shown that her bags were in the back as the driver had promised, and she could retrieve them after her supper.

Everyone knew what went on above their heads; that the Les Amis de l'ABC were plotting attacks and making munitions. Everyone was fearful. Everyone was ready. Those below would pray for the delivery of a new dawn by the hands of those above, though feared for the lives of their friends. This left the tone of the tavern both joyous and somber at once. Happy to be eating, happy to be drinking, happy for the potential of a day when they had a warmer bed and more of what they currently indulged in.

Somber due to the looming inevitable.

Gavroche made Aurelie pay through the nose for his hard work of kicking stones out of her path, ordering soup, chicken, bread and collard greens, a piece of white cake for desert. The Widow Huchloup balked when he tried to order a glass of wine, but Aurelie eyed the woman in a way that plainly stated: What does he have to live for? So a second glass was brought out and Aurelie poured him a few sips.

When their dinner had been cleared, Aurelie asked what he would do with his evening.

"Suppose I'll go rub my full belly in their faces at the elephant," Gavroche said proudly.

"Can I not escort you home?"

"That would counteract my good service."

"Off with you, then," Aurelie said, shooing him away. She had always felt an urge to beg him to be safe, and now that she had her own growing child, maternal instincts were nagging at her. But these sorts of words would offend Gavroche, so she left it at that and watched the little one run from the café.

There was a brief moment Aurelie spent looking up at the ceiling before she rose. There were times women were up there, however rare, and this was not one of them. She could hear the volume, though only over more volume around her. It was only from her window she could make out their words, and as not to disturb them tonight, she went to retrieve her belongings so she could escape to her room across the street.

On her way out the door, Marius rushed by, but hesitated when he saw her face. He nodded at her with an apprehensive smile. "Pardon, Aurelie. Glad to see you back!"

He was once again in motion and up the stairs.

Once Maryse had helped her with her cases to her room, she was left alone to spy through her window. The most secret of meetings took place in Les Halles, but the café was the heart of Saint-Michel, and when all was said and done, it would be here that the war would begin. Her window was directly across from the front window on the second story of the tavern, and with the shutters flung open to let out the heat, it would be effortless to hear what they had to say tonight.

This was not unusual behavior for Aurelie, but it was generally done for a minute or two before losing interest; only to catch a glimpse of her love and say good night to the stars before she slept. Tonight she didn't want to take her eyes off of him after her absence, but with the tensions as high as they were, she was acutely interested in what he was planning with his lieutenants.

It was not as though Enjolras hid anything; it was quite the opposite, he was often too free with his opinions and plans to the point of hours of rhetoric. But it's important to understand that his behavior with his lieutenants was intimate in another way, and Aurelie found it necessary to see him through the eyes of others so she would not be so blinded by her love as to point out any flaws or offer unwarranted accolades.

Opening her window, the noise from the bottom floor was insignificant background to what was taking place across the way, and placing her elbows on the frame, she could see the picture as an outside observer the way only a bird can view the world below.

Enjolras leaned over a map with Courfeyrac at his left, Prouvaire flanking his right. He was casual now in his habitat, cravat left untied with his top two buttons undone. His blue striped vest was fully buttoned, a compliment to his blond curls. It was muggy, and the candles left him with a gleam across his brow as he diligently studied, lips in a defined frown of determination.

His hand covered a pistol beside the map.

But his whispers were unable to reach Aurelie's ears; it was the grossly audacious behavior behind them that drowned him out, however nearer to the window they were.

Bossuet good humoredly elbowed Marius, who was spotted with color. "You're in a daze, my friend! You look as though you've just encountered a ghost! Get some wine, and get it before Grantaire drinks us dry!"

If Enjolras was bothered by his drunken friends, he gave no sign of it, continuing to quietly discuss. Aurelie wished they'd just shut up back there, she wanted very badly to get a picture of what she'd missed, hear their destinations around Paris and exactly what for.

"It was precisely as you say!" Marius cried, a goblet in his hand as Grantaire sloshed wine over it. Aurelie doubted a drop had made it inside. "A girl today, after the rally. I was passing through the market. I'm not sure if she was there or if she was just an apparition!"

"Marius, actually in love?" Bossuet announced loudly, then took a large gulp of his drink. His bald head was slick with the humidity, juxtaposing the youth of a man aged twenty-five with the knowledge of a man near death. "Are you sure she's not just another for you to tease and flirt with?"

Aurelie's interested had been piqued; Marius was very similar to Enjolras in one way only: they both had women swooning at their heels as they walked onward, unaffected. Their only difference in this was that Marius teased back, Enjolras' heart already dedicated to another.

Marius had joined the picture late, as he'd done tonight. The night he'd been introduced at the tavern in Les Halles, Enjolras had come home fuming in a different way. A sarcastic way, a mocking way, and an angry way. They had hated each other. As Aurelie'd heard it told, Marius had taken one look at Enjolras and decided to espouse his views on Napoléon, and with only a look back from Enjolras, Marius had become fueled with rage. Enjolras could have that effect with his looks of disdain. What followed after this tirade was Combeferre's well put point in three little words, enough to silence Marius. It's clever when you can win and be succinct at the same time, the victory sweet. And Enjolras was able to sink the ship with six.

Quite a picture to look at, Marius was attractive in a darker sense than Enjolras with his deep brown hair and even larger brows. But he shed a different sort of light with his naiveté, while still believing his views of the world justified. Every word he spoke was a reworded and revised statement from the lips of his family. This was not to say he was inaccurate, as no one is wrong with opinions, but rather a sponge. He believed in things so strongly that he would be outraged over a challenge, only because he didn't have the capability to back up his words. He had dates in history, which was prized with the Les Amis, and could tell the stories, but when presented with a different outlook, he had a hard time wrapping his head around it. Despite this picture painting him as weak, he was not. He'd been toyed with in his twenty years, tossed between family members with lies to the point where he could not believe anything, while at the same time, had no other option than to trust them all. His father, who had fought at Waterloo which was, perhaps, the reason Marius was so attached to Napoleon, had been forced out of his life. It was only upon knowing him again that Marius gained substance, and thus he ran from his wealth and descended into poverty. This was Marius' great strength. No member of the Les Amis de l'ABC had ever made such a sacrifice; they worked for what they owned but did not disavow what they had, and it was this that had sealed his position.

What subsequently happened between Enjolras and Marius was the obvious step. Marius hated Enjolras to the point of passion, despite all differences, and from this hate he had become intrigued. He wanted to learn what Enjolras had that set him aflame, and once he did, he grew to deeply respect him as much as any other. From their vast differences: Marius' naïve affection, Enjolras' reserved militancy, a friendship was struck that is not dissimilar to the one between Enjolras and Grantaire, which will be delved into in due time. What each lacked completed the other.

"No, this girl is different," Marius told him, and he'd now drawn a small crowd, which made his voice carry despite saying this with more reserve. "She was beautiful: Golden hair with a halo surrounding her head in the form of a hat."

"Sounds like any other girl," Fueilly said, then slumped down in a chair so Aurelie could no longer see him.

"Look at yourself, Enjolras!" Grantaire yelled across the room.

She only saw Enjolras' jaw set with more determination as he sighed, bothered to be bothered.

But Grantaire liked to bait, always craving Enjolras' eye. There were reasons that were less of a secret than the love shared between she and him, simply speculation from a very few. But those few knew of secrets. Those few had secrets of their own, and Aurelie was lumped into that category. She could see a secret in the way one looks at another, and in his eyes, she'd always seen the lingering looks of longing Grantaire aimed at Enjolras.

She had never brought this to Enjolras' attention, and as unaffected as he was by everyone but her, there was no doubt in her mind that these gazes went unnoticed. Enjolras only understood the love in his eyes, not the love in the eyes of those he surrounded himself with.

"Enjolras," Grantaire cried with more volume, demanding his attention. "You're over there talking of battles while your friend Marius comes in late talking of women!"

Enjolras finally turned to look at them, sliding a hand into the pocket of his trousers, and in that exact second, Grantaire played as though he'd said nothing and looked away, turning his attention back to Marius. "A regular Don Juan, you are," he said to Marius, and the room was silenced, all attention having been drawn after Grantaire's demand for it.

"Not this time," Marius said as his face flushed with more color than before. "I'll speak freely of love, as that is quite what I felt today, and I am not ashamed. Only ashamed of my behavior until I saw her."

"I still say she's any other girl," Fueilly repeated.

"I must agree," Bossuet cried while laughing at the man who teased and flirted just as much as he. "And if she's not, forget about her and find yourself some mistresses to compensate as I've done to counterbalance the sting of the woman I'll never have. Love is wasted on men like us."

It was no secret that Bossuet had fallen in love with Aurelie the night they met, as he'd announced it repeatedly in toasts and jokes. She was grateful that Bossuet never took it to a level beyond flirting so she could flirt back instead of breaking his heart.

Enjolras was not amused. He never was when it came to Bossuet's comments about and to Aurelie. Aurelie could do nothing but chuckle at how ridiculously obvious he was in these moments, yet only she would know it.

But his annoyance was more than just Bossuet's comment. Aurelie had seen that face, rarely used in her direction and only when he was demanding that she be serious when she'd tease him.

"This sort of drama is better than an opera!" Grantaire announced, circling his shoulders dramatically as though he had taken to the stage. He then began to croon the tones from Don Giovanni, though the lyrics were in French and not Italian, and they were all a mockery of Marius in love.

It was this and the raucous laughter that set Enjolras in motion, however calmly. He raged at no one, and because of this, his words could sting worse than any curse given.

When Enjolras sat down, Grantaire instantly shut his mouth by bringing a bottle to his lips, taking a large swig while locking his eyes on Enjolras. He'd caught the fish with his bait, and was not above using any sort of chum to get the attention of the man he loved.

"Listen to me, Marius," Enjolras said, though his volume was directed at all, Marius simply an example of the scolding they'd receive if they behaved as Marius was now: late and distracted. "This is the moment for us all to decide who we are. Define ourselves, and define well, for there is no time for us to be playing games now. If you end up late because of a woman, you are a distraction."

Aurelie could not help but audibly snort over this, as Enjolras had done exactly that tonight, late to his own meeting to remain locked in her lips. Secrets were abundant, but this was the first time she'd heard him be a straight hypocrite. And it amused her.

"You can sing of operas and tell their stories, but people have to fight for a right to be there," Enjolras said. "Perhaps you, Monsieur Marius, do not have to, and if you wish to return to your life of operas and orchestrations, by all means, don't let me stop you. We all choose our paths here. Combeferre—" Enjolras pointed at the man leaning against the bar. "A man with passion for life who will heal our wounded when the time comes. Grantaire—" he eyed Grantaire gravely, jaw set "—will likely fall asleep with drink while we fight."

Right as he was, Aurelie felt the jab unnecessary. Grantaire took another gulp from his bottle, needing the drink to erase the comment.

"The cost of our night to the opera is our blood, not your wealth, Marius. Red necessary to bring in a new dawn. With the red of our blood, we can put an end to the black night we live in. If you do not see this, Marius, you should find your ghost and live a happy life, no matter how the world around you suffers."

Marius was quite embarrassed, Aurelie noticed, and Grantaire had misdirected the target onto an innocent party. It wasn't fair or right. And Enjolras rose despite it, having said his piece.

But he was caught on his way up as Marius stood and grabbed his arm.

"If you'd seen her today, you'd know how it feels," Marius said, leaning in close to Enjolras. Aurelie believed it was so no one could hear as these words were hissed, but in the silence, they reached even her ears across the street. And the reception poor Marius received was an eye roll. Still, he marched on, determined to make Enjolras understand. "This woman has the power to leave one breathless. You may not understand, but she would have forced you to with her eyes, no words exchanged. You'd understand how your world can change in a burst of light. Tell me you've never felt a distraction of love, Enjolras!"

Enjolras narrowed his eyes in disbelief, glaring at all, and this was done because he could not answer that truthfully. He was overcompensating in his silence.

"Tell him, Marius!" Grantaire yelled, his smile deliciously wicked. "Tell him what red really is!"

Enjolras looked around the room as though they'd all gone mad.

Marius strongly responded to this with, "It may be our blood; the blood of angry men. But it is also a color of desire, Enjolras!"

"And what is black, Marius?" Grantaire hollered, aiming his daring, wide eyes at Enjolras.

"A world without love!" Marius said, clutching Enjolras' arm. "The despair of it. Why do people continue on in this bleak world, despite their hunger and pain? For love, Enjolras. They live another day for love, nothing more."

Stunned and angered as he was, Enjolras rallied, however harshly. "You are no longer a child," he said emphatically. But his tone transitioned into determination, and softened as he tried to get through to Marius. "This is all well-meant, but our lives have a higher call than love. Those people—us—we can live in love, but is it right? Love may be enough for another day, but another day starving and dying on the streets is still not worth living. Who cares about your lonely soul when your life alone can give a soul to the thousands here now and the millions to come. Our little lives don't count at all."

Angry now, Aurelie had heard enough. This was not what she'd hoped for; seeing Enjolras scold his closest friend over the very sin he himself was committing. Enjolras was steadfast, and was clearly fearful that Marius was losing his dedication. All that kept her here now was watching a loose cannon firing away, leaving her unable to turn as it wreaked havoc, and she stayed only so she could hold his words over him tonight, make him answer to her for what he'd said.

"He's right," Courfeyrac said, and Enjolras' rally had been successful. "If you cannot keep your focus, we are all lost."

"We may have our mistresses," Bossuet added, and raised his glass to the others who agreed and laughed, which lightened the mood, however small. "I'm the guiltiest of them all. But there is a war to fight and I can put aside my little madams."

Fueilly: "Our blood is the cost of a new dawn for this world."

Combeferre: "We must be willing to shed a little for those who cannot continue on as they do."

To each, Enjolras nodded firmly. He'd won a small battle here, and upon looking at Marius, Aurelie saw his dejected acceptance of all the words spoken.

That was when Aurelie's forehead fell to her palms.

Gavroche Knows All Things of Importance

Little Gavroche was barely seen as he ran through the shadows of the street. It was only when he reached the light of the Café Musain that Aurelie caught his tiny frame. The boy should be sleeping by now, as it was quite late. For him to run at a pace faster than his boundless energy meant something serious had transpired, and it took this for Aurelie to finally remove her head from her hands.

Enjolras had taken to his map with more vigor than before, and this time, had Marius at his right as he vehemently pointed.

Bossuet was teasing Joly over imaginary white spots on his tongue.

Feuilly was mumbling words of Poland to no one.

Grantaire was losing consciousness in the back of the room, drowning out the attention lost and what had become of it.

This was a necessity of life for Grantaire. To live without a haze only proved how sad and miserable he was; it was the haze that brought the light, not the other way around. The light without the haze was simply too bright for Grantaire, in which we mean Enjolras was too sublime for Grantaire to handle without a dimmer. The world without Enjolras was too bleak. Grantaire was the direct opposition to Enjolras in every way; an ugly man with a wide head of brown hair that sloped into a triangle, ending at a pointed chin. He had an interest in not taking an interest, which was obvious to all with his appearance alone; rarely shaven, improperly dressed, posture lax. The only reason he ever spent time with the Les Amis was to taunt and bait them, and he would not have even bothered showing up if Enjolras was not present. To be blunt, Grantaire was a little bit in love with the man to the point of fanatical. Because Grantaire lacked character, he found the epitome of his opposite, a counterweight to his apathy. And with any attention he could garner from the man he loved and venerated, Grantaire became more than a lump of flesh. Scolded incessantly, and rather cruelly, by Enjolras for his lack of discipline and character gave him the reason to live and the reason to hide. He did this by burying himself in the breasts of women who could find no one better, and with this he felt he was able to prove how desirable he was. Perhaps enough to will the one he desired to desire him in return. But as everything, there was no hope in anything for Grantaire, and while he liked to think that someday an antic would amuse Enjolras to the point of more than endearment, he knew the impossibility of it all. So to drink he would turn and anything else for a distraction while remaining a distraction to the man he loved. The man who was his direct opposite.

Grantaire was the dark side of the moon.

Still standing at the window, Aurelie had no idea how little Gavroche's weight was able to stomp up their stairs so prominently, but she could hear it over the ruckus on both floors. Indeed, there was news to be delivered of great importance, and Aurelie felt the unease spread through her limbs.

"Everybody!" Gavroche cried, now atop the stairs.

Even though the room was quieter than before, everyone now treading lightly, he went ignored and unnoticed. Enjolras was immersed in his discussion. It was only Courfeyrac who looked up from the map and saw Gavroche at the top of the stairs.

He rushed over and bent his head down to Gavroche. The reaction given by Courfeyrac magnified Aurelie's agitation.

After a loud whistle that managed to catch everyone's eye, Courfeyrac said, "Gavroche has news of importance for us."

However excited he was to bring the older boys news, Gavroche looked as though he'd seen the pits of hell. Wide-eyed, his mouth slightly agape, he said:

"General Lamarque is dead."

All went still.

Aurelie's eyes rested on Enjolras, and him alone. Others around him were looking from face to face, but it was Enjolras who led this party, and it was Enjolras who decided how they would all react to this news.

"And you heard of this how?" Enjolras aimed.

"On my way to bed, Monsieur," he said. "I hear everything, even the men who whispered this in the shadows below his house."

"I wouldn't call his residence on your way, little man," Enjolras said.

"It is on my way when I skip circles around Paris before I sleep," Gavroche told him with a sneer.

"Lamarque," Enjolras said under his breath, then wet his lips; an unconscious act that was always a tell of growing determination. She knew . . . she knew he was weakened by this news. She also knew this moment of weakness would transition into fierce strength to compensate. "The only man who spoke for the people. When our voices would fall on deaf ears, it was only in Lamarque that the masses were heard, and barely even then."

This was said as tribute, not as action. What followed were orders.

"This . . ." he said, then knocked his hand on the table. "This is the sign. This is what puts our movement in motion. Great men will rise to take his place from here, and we will let it be known to the world on his funeral day. In honor of his name, we will take to the streets at his cortege."

The speed of his words were picking up pace. All Aurelie could do was stand still, stunned by the news. There were many times she wished she could hold his hand and join his voice with courage, make the people rally behind them together. This was the first time she'd nearly taken to a run for it, and had to put a conscious effort into locking her feet in place so she didn't head to the tavern to help, offering her full support.

But fear was present. The sadness would come later, the grief that their only hope in government had been taken too soon by cholera. Right now, however, she allowed a moment of dread. They were now days away from a new revolution and many would be lost. And as she watched Enjolras pick up the pace with his words until they were hardly distinguishable in his provocation, she realized their timing was off. She'd been ready to fight beside him, hand in hand, for as long as she could remember. But with a child coming, together they had a greater purpose.

She knew he would fight, she knew she could not, and she hated both equally.

"We will do this without doubt in our hearts, make the people unite as one voice above all. All who stand at the street to watch his cortege will be there to honor him; they share our ideology, and it will be the largest rally we could hope for! From there, we will take to our plans, raise our barricades."

He pointed with vigor at his map, addressing everyone. "We know our plans inside and out. The barricade our rampart, here, here and here. The largest out front on rue Saint-Martin, the others at rue de la Chanvrerie and Mondetour Alley. Our fortress: this very tavern. At the cortege, Marius and I will give the sign and wave our banner beside his hearse. From there, once the people are one, we rush to our redoubt. Construction will be easy, everyone will pitch in."

"And of the next few days?" Fueilly asked.

Courfeyrac responded, who had hurried over to the map: "We spread. Polytechnic, La Glaciere, Picpus. The masons at the lodge in the rue de Grenelle-Saint-Honore have been waiting on us to make a decision."

"I'll make the assignations tonight and we will meet come dawn," Enjolras said with a firm nod. "For now, let us rest. We will need all our energy."

"Lamarque would be unhappy to have missed this," Bossuet said, then raised his glass. "Let us toast him here, and in honor of his death, we swear here and now to continue his fight."

The toast was given full attention with determination and mourning.