Disclaimer: I own Alianne. And that's it.
Prologue
A gunshot. A body flying off the barricade to land with a thump amid pieces of wood and burnt cloth. And a cry from the left side of the barricade.
"Courfeyrac's down!" it went.
Towards the center of the barricade, the combat had become almost exclusively bladework. A young soldier of the National Guard who had picked out the only female on the barricade as an easy target suddenly found himself facing a veritable lioness in girl form.
Said girl ended up kicking the soldier in the groin and off the barricade. She stood still for a moment, her mind overflowing with sorrow and despair. No. Courfeyrac…it can't be. Brother… Her green eyes flashed and she was back in battle, using her shooting lessons when she could, and her fencing lessons when she couldn't.
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her chest, a defiance of gravity, and a subsequent multitude of little pains, like the pecks of a hundred sparrows, on her back. Her vision cleared from the smoke of gunfire and she realized that she was lying on the ground, near the door of the café, and her red shirt was wet. And the pain in her chest was throbbing.
She heard footsteps coming towards her and felt her head lifted up and cradled in someone's lap. "Rousseau?" It was Combeferre. "Rousseau's down too!" he shouted.
Weakly, she managed to say "I'm alive, Combeferre. Though barely, I fear."
He brushed the hair back from her face. "You'll be all right. We'll get you fixed up – it's naught but a bullet."
"It's more than that, Combeferre. Listen, could you get Enjolras for me? Please?" she asked.
"Of course," he nodded. Not wanting to leave her, he yelled, "Enjolras! Rousseau's… badly hurt and she's asking for you!"
She relaxed at hearing this, and soon heard another set of footsteps crossing the bloody ground. "What happened?" Enjolras asked anxiously as he knelt beside her.
Shrugging as much as she could in her prone position, she said, "I'm not exactly sure. I heard someone shout that Courfeyrac went down, and well, I guess I went berserk. Next thing I knew, I was here." She gasped suddenly and looked down. "With a great big hole in my chest. Dying, I'm sure."
"Don't talk like that, Alianne. Please," he said, grasping her hand.
"What? You want me to be an optimist?" she asked with a smirk on her face that quickly turned into a grimace of pain.
He sighed. "No, I want you not to lower morale. It's bad enough already."
About to say something, she suddenly seized up and coughed, blood coming out of her mouth. When she was finally able to speak, she smiled, a small, vulnerable smile, and said, "Yes, I think I'm dying."
In response, Enjolras asked Combeferre quietly, "Could you please give us some time alone before she…"
Understanding, Combeferre nodded, took off his jacket so as to make a pillow for her head, and left. When he had gone, Enjolras settled down besides the girl. "This is what I was talking about last night, Alianne. This is why I wanted you to go."
"Enjolras…Alistair…I wouldn't have it any other way. I would rather die here, on the barricade, fighting for freedom, with you." She squeezed his hand. "Just…do something for me, will you?"
"Anything," he promised.
"If you live, find yourself someone else. Don't spend all your time mourning for me. With me you learned love, with her you will learn passion. Please just don't forget me. That's all I ask." She looked up at him and saw the held-back tears shimmering in his grey eyes. "I'm glad it ends this way, if it had to end at all."
Unable to speak, he stroked her cheek lovingly, marveling once again at her pale soft skin and bright green eyes. "Where's Courfeyrac?" she asked. He pointed to where a green-clad figure was lying motionless.
She propped herself up on one elbow, wincing the whole time, and looked towards the body of Nathanael Courfeyrac, the man that she could have sworn was her long-lost brother, if she had had one. "I'll see you soon…" she said, haltingly.
Seeing that beads of sweat had popped out from the strain of simply sitting upright on her forehead, Enjolras gently pushed her down. "Shh, Alianne."
Her breaths were shallower now, and both of them could feel the approach of the black-cloaked wraith, Death. The shouts and cries from the barricade grew louder and more frequent, if that was possible, and she grew worried. "I shouldn't have asked for you. They need you up there."
He shook his head. "I would have come anyways."
"Then, Alistair, will you kiss me one last time? I want to share my last breath with you," she said. He nodded and their lips met. She savored his soft lips and the taste of him for the last time.
When he realized that he had, indeed, shared her last breath, he drew back to closer her eyes, before realizing that they were already closed. Standing up, a single tear running down his cheek, he murmured, "Thus falls Alianne Marie Rousseau, mother and daughter of the barricades and of freedom for France."
She felt, rather than saw, the past few years flashing through her mind. The exchange of letters, her arrival in Paris dressed as a gentleman, the duping of most of Les Amis, the reveal of who she really was (a girl), and finally, the revolution at the barricades.
And then, eternity.