Okay, I've decided to take down Kaleidoscope, and put this one up instead. It's my first third-person story since an assignment a couple of years ago, so I'm a little rusty on that, and it was originally meant to be a one-shot, but I decided that it got too long (and it's still in progress) so I'm dividing it up into some chapters instead.
This story is kind of about why Enjolras doesn't like women, or beauty, and I know it's detailed in the book, kind of, but I was thinking , what if? So this is my take on it. I have changed people, added people, and yeah, I hope you like it, because I'm enjoying writing it. Just by the way, Enjolras is canon appearance. Just putting it out there.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Les Miserables in any shape, version or form, I am just messing around with the life of my favourite character!
Doesn't Last Forever
Part 1 - Meeting
"Come on, Laure, we're going to be late," her little sister tugs at Laure's tatty green skirt, making big pleading eyes up at the older girl, who's quickly brushing her hair with her fingers.
"We'll be there in plenty of time, Annette," Laure soothes, tying the knot of the ribbon that her mother bought especially for the wedding. "The dancing doesn't start for another half-hour at least."
"But it takes fifteen minutes to walk to the square, and I want to see Leon before it starts!" Annette pouts, her little face crinkling up.
"Aren't you too little to be interested in boys?" Laure teases, taking the key-on-a-string from the worn table, and slinging it around her neck. Her bare feet slap against the dirt floor as she finds her sister's white Sunday ribbon, and ties up the dark waves that float almost to her waist in a neat plait.
"I am not interested in him!" Annette protests. "We are best friends!"
"I know, I know," Laure smiles. "I was just teasing."
"Can we go now, then?" Annette pushes, running to wait beside the door, her arms folded across her chest. "Maman and the boys will be there already!"
"Yes, yes," Laure sighs, tucking the key into the neck of her dress. "Let's go."
Alexandre Enjolras stands just to the side of his newly-wed sister, and her pompous husband, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, and an expression of cool disinterest plastered across his face. He has never had time for weddings, and to be perfectly honest, he doesn't even like his sister very much. At least, not since she came back from finishing school. She reminds him too much of the bourgeoisie of Paris, who would walk past a starving child in need because they didn't want to get their dress dirty, the ones whose only topics of conversation seem to be fashion and gossip.
Her new husband, Etienne, he likes even less, since the man keeps trying to convince Enjolras that he needs to find himself a girl – apparently when Etienne was fifteen, he had had at least two or three girls. Apparently it's unnatural not to, according to the pompous jerk. But Alexandre couldn't care less what his new brother-in-law has to say – all he wants to do is get back to the library, and finish the book he was reading, and never set eyes on his sister's new family again.
A breathy voice near his ear makes him start. "Wasn't the wedding lovely? I would kill to have a dress like that on my wedding day." Unfortunately, he recognises the voice all too well – it's been plaguing him for the last week, following him around wherever he goes. "Did you enjoy it, Alexandre?"
Without turning around to see the owner of the voice, he says, his tone very even, "Yes I did, Rosalie."
Before the wretched girl can say anything more, however, she is summoned by her mother – who is calling to her to stay with the bride and make sure she has everything she needs. Alexandre lets out a breath of relief, relaxing slightly now that she's gone. Hopefully, she'll stay gone. Hopefully.
"Isn't it pretty?" a voice shouts above the music. Laure turns to see her oldest friend, Veronique, has appeared, flopping down next to her on the hay bale. Veronique's cheeks are bright red with exertion, and she's grinning happily.
"It's lovely," Laure replies, smiling at her friend. And it's true – this is the most decorated she's seen the square. Brightly coloured bunting-flags are hung around the leafy green trees, and a fire crackles at the other end of the square, where they're roasting a huge hog. It'll be enough to keep everyone's bellies full tonight.
The band are on a small wooden platform, sitting on chairs and laughing as they play their instruments, and the bride and groom are happily seated in an arbour that was put their for their purpose, surrounded by their closest family. As they obviously don't want to mix with the peasants.
"Laure, have you danced yet?" Veronique asks as the music pauses, leaning forward to adjust the hem of her dress – a lovely bright blue colour that brings out her eyes.
"No," Laure says, pushing a red-brown curl behind one ear. "You know I can't dance, Veronique."
"You can dance!" Veronique protests. "Look…" she scans the square, taking in the groups of giggling bourgeoisie girls in their finest lace and silk dresses, contrasting greatly with the tatty wool and homespun of the locals. "See that boy over there?" she nods to a boy, about our age, sitting alone.
"Ye-es," Laure says cautiously, wondering what on earth her friend is thinking.
"He looks bored and lonely…" Veronique pauses for effect. "And he's very handsome. Why don't you go ask him to dance?"
"I can't!" Laure inhales sharply, realising who he is. "Veronique, he's the brother of the bride!"
Veronique raises one shoulder indifferently. "So? You can still dance with him. Little Louis has stolen a dance from that five-year-old bourgeoisie girl. So if your brother can do it, why can't you?"
Laure sighs, deliberating. What's the worst that can happen? She muses. He'll say no. But if he does say yes… "Fine, I'll do it," she stands up, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress, and, taking a deep breath, starts to walk over towards the boy, her heart hammering in her chest.
"Excuse me, m'sieur?" a girl's voice jolts Enjolras out of his reverie. He immediately tenses up, before realising that the girl standing in front of him is as far from a bourgeoisie as one could get.
"Yes?" he says, taking in her faint blush and embarrassed expression with indifference.
"I…I was wondering if you'd like to dance?" she asks, nibbling on her lips which already look dry and chapped.
Enjolras looks around, and, seeing Rosalie leave the arbour where his sister is sitting, and fix her gaze on him, he stands up, suddenly thankful to this girl for providing him with an excuse to avoid Rosalie. "Of course, Mademoiselle," he says. A bright smile lights her face, making her ordinary-looking features seem prettier somehow – also revealing two dimples in her cheeks. She seems far more confident now that he's agreed to dance with her.
"Come on, then!" she holds out her work-roughened hand. He tentatively takes it, and lets her lead him out into the centre of the square, where a circle of partners are already forming up for the next dance.
Suddenly curious as to the identity of his partner, Enjolras asks, "What's your name, Mademoiselle?"
She smiles again, "Laure Bonnet – you don't have to call me Mademoiselle if you don't want to, M'siuer."
He allows himself a small smile. "Well, if I'm not calling you Mademoiselle, then you mustn't call me Monsieur."
"What should I call you, then?" a small dent forms between her eyebrows. "I mean, I know your surname – Enjolras – but that still seems a little formal."
"My Christian name is Alexandre," Enjolras says to her, taking her other calloused hand as the dance is announced and the music starts to play.
They sit down together on a hay bale, both laughing and out of breath. "That was so much fun!" Laure enthuses.
"It was," he agrees, getting his laughter under control. Then he smiles at her, "Thank you very much for dragging me out to dance."
She blushes again. "It was no problem, Alexandre." She doesn't mention the fact that it was Veronique's idea in the first place.
"I also need to thank you for rescuing me from my new sister-in-law," he continues, glancing over Laure's shoulder to check that Rosalie isn't in earshot. She's not, but even so, he lowers his voice. "She's been following me around like a puppy all week – I haven't been able to get rid of her without petitioning my sister to take her somewhere."
Laure laughs again, before confiding, "She sounds like my little sister, Annette, 'cept I love Annette, 'cause we're the only two girls in our family."
"Are your whole family here?" he wants to know, turning to face her on the hay bale. It feels strange to him to be conversing with a girl, as he's never been one for talking to the opposite gender before. Yet Laure makes it strangely easy.
"Yes," she answers, brushing her madly curly hair out of her face. Anticipating his next question, she says with a smile, "There are six of us, if you don't count my oldest brother Alain, and his wife, Elodie – they've got two little ones themselves."
"Big family," his mouth quirks up in a half smile. She thinks that he's going to ask her their names and things like that, but to her surprise he doesn't, instead asking, "Is it difficult, living with so many people, and yet only having one wage-earner?"
Her mouth falls open in shock – no-one has ever asked her anything like that before. Because, she guesses, everyone she knows is as poor as her family is, if not poorer. "Laure?" he prompts. She blushes, this time out of shame, as she knows he will pity her if he hears her answer.
"Yes, it is," she says, suddenly shy, looking down into her lap. "Maman earns as much as she can with working on Monsieur Durand's factory in the next town, and I look after my siblings and do the housework," she pauses. "Maman's hours are long, and she doesn't get much money for it."
His blue eyes have lit up slightly, she notices. "You see…" he pauses. "I'm trying to research the conditions the poor are living in – because I want change for you all."
"You do?" Laure has never been so surprised in her life. She always thinks of the bourgeoisie as being stuck-up and pompous, always ignoring those below them. But Alexandre Enjolras breaks the mould, it seems, breaks it in many different ways.
"Yes," he leans in closer, so no-one except for Laure can hear what he's saying. "I can't talk about it much here, otherwise my father will beat me, but I've been reading some books by a man called Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and I think he has the right idea for the future. He talks about a Republic, a place where the people have the power, they vote for their leader and no man has the right to be put above another man."
She shakes her head, "I don't see how that would work. It's an amazing idea, though." She sighs. "No man has the right to put above another man. I would love to learn more about this…Jean-Jacques Rousseau…" she waits. To be perfectly honest, she does want to spend more time with Enjolras, learning and discussing the ideas of this man. It would be her idea of heaven to learn more about how the world should be.
Enjolras is pleased by her reaction – not many people have the patience to listen to his ideas – not to mention the fact that it is illegal to talk about overthrowing the king. "We could find somewhere to talk about it, maybe?" he suggests. "It would be good – because you're the first person who's actually genuinely interested in what I have to say."
She smiles. "It's a deal."