Okay, first of all, the disclaimer. It's not mine. None of it. I wish it were, but it's not. Now you won't get anything if you sue me.
Secondly, I want everyone to know, THIS IS NOT HOW IT HAPPENED! IF YOU DON'T LIKE FICS THAT CHANGE THE FACTS (or what would be facts if the stories weren't fiction), DON'T READ THIS! Before I really knew what Les Miserables was, I heard the song On My Own and was very intrigued by Eponine's character. I wanted to know the story behind her. My friend told me that Eponine died at the barricades because she was taking a letter from Marius to Cosette, but he didn't tell me the details. So my mind invented them. This is how I pictured it until I saw the musical. I have incorporated a lot of the stuff I've learned since then, but the idea is what I originally thought. Oh, and everyone writes these from Eponine's point of view, but I've taken a different stance. This is Marius, and how he's feeling. Anyway, enjoy.
The confusion was endless. Smoke billowed up into the night, obscuring what little vision they had already had. No one knew who was who, whether the person he was shooting at was friend or foe. Guns boomed and men shouted-
Not men, Marius thought bitterly as he fought his way through the melee, school boys, dreamers, idealists who have never before held a gun.
He came to the edge of the smoke, coughing and choking. What have we gotten ourselves into?
And then came the scream.
It was not the scream of a man; it was the high-pitched scream of a woman. And the voice was one Marius recognized.
"Eponine," he breathed.
He plunged back into the smoke, frantically searching for the woman he knew was out there somewhere. If she's hurt, if she's dead, it's all my fault. I asked her to take that letter to Cosette. I put her in danger. All my fault. Eponine…
He stumbled and fell to his knees, pushing himself back up again in desperation. Someone collided with him; a loyal French soldier. Marius would have killed him, would have shot him, except that he didn't have his gun, and he never wanted to kill again. He would kill for only two people: Cosette… and Eponine.
He was in love with Cosette, but Eponine was his best friend. Had always been his best friend. And now, it was his fault she was… No, he told himself angrily, don't think that. She's fine. She just screamed because she was scared. She was scared. That's all. She was scared…
His mind said it over and over, but in his heart he knew it wasn't true. Eponine was gone.
The soldier was swinging a heavy pipe towards Marius' head. It all seemed to happen in slow motion; he tried to duck, but the pipe slammed into the side of his head, sending slivers of pain through his body. He fell and tried and failed to get back up.
He felt the blood seeping through his hair and felt a sort of paralysis begin to steal up his body. The soldier turned away, leaving him to die. Marius lay there for several long minutes, head throbbing, lungs heaving, and heart mourning for the foolishness of their fatal attempt at a better France. Do I care if I should die; now she goes across the sea? Life with out Cosette means nothing at all. Would you weep, Cosette, should Marius fall? Will you weep, Cosette, for me?
Grantaire was gone, as was Feuilly, as was Prouvaire, as was Enjolras… Enjolras. The fiery leader of their rebellion. Marius had seen him go down. And Grantaire, who, barely a few nights before, had mocked him playfully for his sudden love for Cosette and consequent inarticulacy. Eponine was gone.
A sudden strength surged through Marius. Eponine was not gone. And he was going to find her. Eponine.
His attempts to stand were futile. Then, suddenly, a very tall form in a French loyal's uniform loomed above him.
Marius closed his eyes, readying himself for a death blow. It didn't come. Instead, a strong hand grasped his and pulled him to his feet. Through the blood dripping from a gash on his forehead and the pain in his skull, Marius thought he recognized the face, but his fuzzy thoughts couldn't place it. He tried to thank the soldier, but the man had already vanished into the smoke.
He stumbled onward, forcing himself to keep going. Eponine had to be somewhere.
And then he saw her. An icy dagger seemed to plunge into his stomach as he saw the blood blossoming all over her boy's guise. Blood. She's been hurt.
Marius, sobbing, dropped to her side and cradled her head in his lap. He held her there for several minutes, ignoring the rain that began as a drizzle and increased to a downpour. As he stroked her hair, her eyes flickered open wearily.
He breathed a sigh of utter relief. "'Ponine."
"Marius." Her voice was little more than a whisper.
"Let's get you out of the rain. Into the shop, c'mon." He tried to lift her limp body.
"Marius, no."
"What are you talking about? We have to get you some help. Out of the rain."
"It's too late."
Marius scowled. "No, it's not. Please, 'Ponine, please let me take you inside."
She shook her head, apparently unable to talk. That's when it hit him.
Eponine was dying.
"It's okay, Marius. A little rain can hardly hurt me now."
Oh, Eponine.
"Just keep me safe and close."
"Of course," he said softly, his tears mingling with the rain.
You would live a hundred years, if I could show you how…"I won't desert you now."
"The rain can't hurt me now. This rain will wash away what's past."
What's past. I'm sorry, Eponine. I'm so sorry.
"I will stay with you 'till you are sleeping."
"And rain will make the flowers…." Her voice trailed off and her eyes closed. She drew in one last, shuddering breath.
Marius stroked her hair and held her hand.
"And rain will make the flowers grow."