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.