I watched the film on the 13th of January, it's just taken me this long to get around to writing this x It's mainly based on the film because it's been so long since I read the book x Yes, the title is named after the ABBA song, but I suppose that's because Amanda Seyfried was in Mamma Mia as well :) Depending on reviews and feedback, I may do a second chapter x Please read and review x
Sniffling softly, Cosette wiped at her face with one hand and gripped to her new husbands arm tightly with the other. Her long blonde hair was positively unkempt, tangled and blowing around in the wind. Tears tracked down her face from puffy red eyes, slashing onto the ground in little puddles as she watched the man who had been her father slowly lowered into the ground.
Marius wrapped a comforting arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She snuggled into his warmth, shivering in spite of the gentle sunshine, and buried her face in his neck.
"Cosette," He whispered lovingly, stroking her back softly.
She pressed closer still, for a single moment, before leaning away, although she never stepped fully out of his arms. "I am fine."
She wiped at her eyes persistently, their redness ignoring all attempts to hide the evidence of her tears.
"No you're not," Marius said softly, with a wisdom beyond his years. "But you will be."
Cosette nodded tightly, desperate to hold her composure this time.
"Have you...Have you...?" Marius started, unsure as to whether he wanted to ask.
Cosette turned to face him, his arms still wrapped around her.
"Have you read the letter yet?"
"No. Not yet," She whispered before turning away again to thank the people that had come for the funeral.
Marius stared after her.
Her hands trembled as she set down the envelope on the table, settling onto the sofa. For once she didn't sit primly, dressed in a simply cotton gown, and tucked up her knees to her chin like a small child.
She felt like a child.
An innocent child, having seen the cruelties of the world for the first time, in need of parental guidance.
Never again would Cosette have that.
She had never known her birth father and her mother had died long before she'd even turned ten. And now her adopted father, her papa, was gone as well.
By now she was expected to have grown up, to be self reliant. But she had not experienced the pains of life, not for many years. Her papa had taken her away from that life until she had forgotten its hardships.
Marius entered then, eyeing his wife trembling on the sofa, hair covering her eyes and the envelope on the table, illuminated in the flickering firelight. He knelt at her side, carefully taking one hand in his.
Cosette looked up, moving the hair out of her face, eyes glistening although there were not yet tears tracks on her face.
"Marius?" She asked tearfully.
"Yes darling?" He stroked her cheek soothingly.
"I think. I'm going to read the letter now."
She reached out with her free hand for the envelope, clutching it to her chest. Marius released her hand and sat beside her.
With shaking hands she opened the envelope.
Darling Cosette,
I write to you now in my last days. I have much to say and know that I will not likely see you again, so you may have to do well with this.
I will start my tale with a young foolish man named Valjean imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread to save his sister's youngest child. The fool attempted escape until the original sentence of five years was extended to nineteen.
As you may have well guessed this was me. I left prison a hardened man, and couldn't find either work nor shelter under my parole. A church granted me sanctuary and I thanked the priest by making off with the dining silver in the dark of the night.
I didn't make it far, no further than the city gates. I told the guards that the priest had gifted me with the silver. When they took me back to the church, the priest confirmed my story and reminded me that I had forgotten to take the candlesticks. These very same candlesticks remain in my possession, as I'm sure you fondly remember them.
The priest told me he had saved my soul for God.
After this I broke my parole, vanishing into France as yet another unnamed peasant, until I became the Mayor of a small town in the West, owning several factories.
It was at one of these I met your mother, Fantine. It shames me to say that I know almost nothing of her, and less of your birth father, though i know he abandoned your mother shortly after you were born.
One day I entered the factory to find a fight brewing between your mother and her fellow workers. They had just found out about you and knew that Fantine wasn't wed, and were demanding her to be sacked. Sadly I could not deal with the incident myself, called away to discuss business with an policeman named Javert, who had earlier been a prison guard - one who I recognised from my prison days. I left the foreman in charge, whose advances I later found out had been spurned by your mother, and the man sacked her.
After that your mother had no way to provide for you. She resorted to selling her hair, her teeth and eventually her body because the Thénardiers wrote to her to tell her you were ill and in need of expensive medicine.
I met her for the second time when she attacked a man who attempted to assault her. Javert was there and the man she assaulted demand she be punished, despite the fact that he had attacked Fantine.
Your mother was very ill. I carried her to the hospital and sent for you, but she died before the message even arrived. In her dying moments I promised I would care for you.
The next part of this sorry tale you already know. I found you in the woods, so scared and alone, and took you into my care as I had promised.
After this I raised you as my own, as precarious as our whereabouts may have been due to the continuous pursuit of Javert who recognised me.
It was then you met Marius, as a young woman in your prime. And you seemed so happy, almost delirious with it.
I went to find him at the barricades, this strange man who you were so taken with, and found him wounded, dragging him to safety through the darkness of the sewers. Javert was there, though I know not where he is now.
I am glad you and Marius are wed, for he makes you happy and that is all I have ever wanted for you.
In my life I have been called many things: Jean Valjean, Madeleine, Fauchelevant, but fondest of all is papa. I am glad to have raised you, even though your mother was not with you, but I know I will be seeing her soon, as will you one day.
Life well with Marius, my daughter.
Your father
Cosette lay the letter down on the table, fingers quivering, and gripped the arm rests so tightly her knuckles shone white before bursting into tears.