AN: So this is one long chapter. I debated splitting it up but ultimately decided against it. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, or followed the story thus far. Hope you guys like it—more feedback would be loverly. Hint hint.


Chapter One: A housemaid from Montfermeil

She kept his letters bundled with thick twine and hidden in a box at the back of her closet. The latest she kept folded in her apron pocket so that she could take it out and read it over and over when no one else was looking.

At night, before bed, she devoured the beautiful words written in his messy scrawl until her lids became too heavy to keep open. He had written he was eager to see her, which made her heart leap and her toes curl under the covers. She imagined chestnut hair and warm blue eyes, sun-kissed skin and freckles. And then, just as she felt like she could throw open the windows and fly, she pinched herself and tucked the letter under her pillow.

Eponine Thenardier was many things, but she was no fool.

She sighed, tucking a stray strand of thick, unruly black hair behind her ear as she smoothed out the wrinkles in his sheets. While she and a certain Marius Pontmercy may have been childhood friends, the cold truth was she would never be anything more than a housemaid in his grandfather's service. And he...he was studying to be a lawyer at the Sorbonne. In Paris.

At first, he had written often. Hardly a week would go by before Monsieur Gillenormand would summon her to the library and hand her another letter. Then, as the months went on, the letters started coming every two weeks before slowing to a paltry note every month. But she understood. He was busy. She was patient. The school year would be ending soon and he had already apologized for his lack of response.

He had even begged her not to stop writing.

"Eponine, are you almost done in the young master's bedroom?" Azelma barked from the door. Eponine jumped, glaring at her impatient sister.

"Nearly. It would go faster if you would make yourself useful," she said. Azelma rolled her eyes.

"I would, if you would let me do anything. Honestly, 'Ponine, it's just sheets. We'll have to change them as soon as he sleeps in them."

"Then go and start airing the guest room," she said, tucking the covers just the way she knew Marius liked them. "Monsieur Gillenormand said Marius might be bringing a friend to stay a fortnight."

"But...that's supposed to be in July!"

Eponine pursed her lips. "That room hasn't been aired out in months. It'll take that long just to get the dust out."

Azelma let out a great sigh, dramatically dragging her feet as she stomped down the corridor. Eponine shook her head. Her sister was lucky that Monsieur Gillenormand was out visiting the factories this morning; the old man couldn't stand the Thenardiers and only tolerated Eponine because she was competent and to humor his grandson.

Glancing around Marius' room, Eponine felt her heart plummet. From the bed to his nightstand, everything was crafted from the finest mahogany, the sole exception being his wardrobe, which was made from a fragrant cedar. Inside, were the clothes that he had not taken with him to Paris; the fancy waistcoats, dinner jackets and his riding clothes. His desk was littered with political books and the occasional novel, as well as half-empty ink wells and pens, all neatly arranged from the mess he had made over the Christmas holidays. And in the corner, there was a gilded antique mirror that had once belonged to his mother.

Eponine stared at her reflection. She was still too thin, but her cheekbones were less pronounced than when she had first met Marius as a child. Her dark, unruly hair was pulled back into a severe bun—as was customary in service—but she never managed to tame the few stray curls that always managed to slip out. The one thing that hadn't changed was her eyes. They were still a deep brown, guarded and in her mind, dull.

She might have been pretty, once, if her father had not gambled away the inn in Montfermeil. But then she might have never met Marius.

Tearing her eyes away from the mirror, she fingered the letter in her pocket. Deep in her heart, Eponine knew that one day she would have to give him up. That no matter how much he insisted he believed in equality, he would marry a lady, not a penniless servant girl. But, she thought as she took one last glance around his room, today was not that day.


Marius returned in the middle of June, and with him, came the tidings of summer. In the days just before his arrival, the house seemed to hum with new life. Monsieur Gillenormand resumed his morning walks, and Eponine had her hands full with last minute arrangements. The cook had prepared all of Marius' favorite foods and Azelma, who had only begun working in the spring, had peppered her sister with questions about the young master. Eponine kept her answers vague. It wouldn't do to know too much, and one infatuated Thenardier sister was more than enough trouble.

It took him three days to seek her out, and even then, only to ask her opinion about some friend he had mentioned in his last letter. The mischief in his eyes dimmed slightly when he perceived her indifference, leaving her with a sinking feeling in her gut. After a night of wringing her hands together, she decided she was being stupid. Marius wasn't a meddling old woman. He was simply blind. And blind was better than the alternative.

Today the cook had whipped up a light vegetable stew with some crusty bread on the side. Eponine eyed the clock. It was only a quarter past one. Marius never ate before half-past. She fiddled with the corner of the silver tray on the countertop before straightening the utensils for the umpteenth time.

Since his return, Eponine's days had turned into a waiting game. Her mornings were filled with the anticipation of catching Marius in the hallways as she bounded up the stairs to clear the breakfast table. He usually had a smile for her, which kept her heart thrumming within her chest until luncheon.

For his midday meal, Eponine usually brought up a tray to his room from the kitchens. Usually, they would exchange a few words in the privacy of his room about whatever book he was reading. Sometimes, he would even ask her to read over his letters. Every day, she begged him to slow down and appreciate his lunch. Every day, he laughed and said she was mothering him. Still, it was fifteen minutes of heaven. Then she was off to help prepare for dinner, dreading the long hours until she could see him again in the morning.

On days when she had little work and Monsieur Gillenormand had gone to the village, they took leisurely afternoon strolls in the garden. There he regaled her with stories of his friends, the infamous ABC and Cafe Musain. Once, he told her how much he wished she could be there at university with him. She went to bed that night with a smile plastered on her face, replaying the memory in her mind over and over again until Azelma turned out the lights in their shared room.

"Thinking of him again, are you?" Azelma asked as she leaned against the kitchen counter. Eponine sputtered.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"You can't play dumb with me 'Ponine," Azelma said, rolling her eyes. "Not when you've got that stupid grin on your face. You can tell me who he is you know...Oh, is it Parnasse?"

"Good god, no." Eponine cast a sidelong glance at her sister, who was now staring at her intently, chin propped up against her palm. "What gave you that horrendous idea?"

"It ain't that horrendous. He's got a pretty face, that one. He asks about you a lot, y'know. In his letters."

"Isn't. Not ain't," Eponine said. "In any case, tell him to stop asking. Better yet, burn those letters. Or even better, don't write to him at all. A pretty face isn't everything 'Zelma."

Her sister rolled her eyes. Montparnasse. The name tasted sour on her tongue. She wondered how he'd managed to get released from jail so early. Last she checked, he still had a year left on his sentence. Eponine fought the shiver that ran down her spine as she pictured his charming smile and the feel of his hand on the small of her back. So far he hadn't bothered to make the trip down for a visit. He was probably too busy running errands for their father. She prayed it stayed that way.

"Easy for you to say. All the good boys like you, Ponine."

"Don't be stupid," Eponine said, flushing. "I've got to bring up this tray. Just promise me you won't say a word to 'Parnasse."

Azelma's face twisted into a scowl. "You take the fun out of everything."

"Promise me, Zelma."

"Fine," her sister said, waving dismissively as she turned toward the servants' quarters. "I promise. Just go bring the prince his soup."

Eponine watched her sister's retreating figure with a clenched jaw. If 'Parnasse is sniffing around...She shook her head. That part of her life was over and done with.


She didn't have to knock on the door when she reached his room; he'd left it open for her. His back was to her as he poured over a letter on his writing desk, and he had forgone the waistcoat in favor of a loosely buttoned-up shirt with rolled up sleeves. Clearing her throat, she willed herself to keep her eyes on the back of his head and not the finely corded muscles of his forearm.

"Lunch, Monsieur Marius," she said.

"Ah, good. Just the person I wanted to see," Marius said smiling. She returned the smile, her hands gripping the edge of the tray until her knuckles turned white.

"What can I help you with today?"

"Do you remember the friend I mentioned in my previous letter?"

She nodded, placing the tray on his desk where it was promptly ignored.

"He's written saying he's accepted my offer to visit in July," Marius said. "I'm writing my reply now...and I wanted to know if you would meet him when he comes."

"I...don't understand. Of course I'll meet him if he is a guest here—"

"No, no," Marius said, waving in mid air. "Not as a maid. As my dearest friend. Brilliant as he is, I think Enjolras could use some perspective."

Eponine fought to separate the swelling pride in her heart from the creeping dread settling in at the pit of her stomach. Thenardiers were good actors; she knew what Marius wanted from her, what he wanted to hear from her. And she had never been one to deny him anything that was in her power to give.

"Well, when you put it like that, monsieur, how can I refuse?" She was rewarded well when he graced her with a radiant smile. Eponine took a moment to marvel at how the little boy she had befriended reappeared whenever he did.

"Excellent. Just excellent!"

He reached out and time slowed. His hands were warm as they squeezed her shoulders, and she felt a burst of electricity run up her spine. He was so close she could smell the warm and spicy scent of his cologne. If God had struck her down in that very instant, it would have been alright. She could make her peace if the world ended and left them there, hand-in-hand, for all eternity.

But the moment passed. She excused herself and he returned to writing his friend. The rest of the day flew by in a daze. Eponine even forgot to be nervous about meeting a man Marius described in his letter as "savage Antinous reborn."


"Ponine, have you ever seen someone so beautiful?" Azelma whispered as they stood at attention.

She hadn't. She had thought Marius exaggerated his descriptions of his friend, this stoic Enjolras. But as he climbed out of the motor, she could see that for once, every word her excitable friend had written was true.

"Everyone, this is my dear friend Gabriel Enjolras. He shall be staying with us a fortnight."

Marius' friend bowed his head sharply in acknowledgement, a severe expression on his face. Once upon a time, she had thought Montparnasse, with this dark eyes and wild hair, to be the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Then, she had met Marius. Her heart had melted ever since she first saw his lopsided, impish grin. But, despite all her love, Eponine had to admit their guest was the paragon of male beauty.

As Marius had wrote, Monsieur Enjolras was blessed with loose, golden curls that framed a pair of striking blue eyes. But he had made no mention of Enjolras' tall, broad-shouldered figure or the attractive sense of purpose in his bearing.

"I thank you for your hospitality," he said, studying each member of the household with an odd intensity.

When those eyes finally settled on her, Eponine found herself standing a bit straighter. And although she was used to staring down her father, there was something in his piercing gaze made her suddenly fascinated with her shoelaces. Squashing down the urge to run away, she dug her fingernails deeper into her palms.

His gaze lingered for what seemed like an eternity before abruptly moving to the next person. Letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Eponine chanced a glance at her sister and was surprised to see Azelma already staring at her.

"What?" she hissed.

Azelma glared before facing forward again. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Eponine opened her mouth to say something, but Azelma scurried off as soon as Marius had dismissed them. Sighing, she remembered the sweet little girl who used to hide behind her skirts and whose hair she braided on rainy afternoons. Gavroche would be starting as a stableboy in less than a week. She prayed he wouldn't be nearly as difficult as Azelma.

"Oh, Eponine! Could you come here a moment?" Marius was calling her. Casting a wistful glance at Azelma's back, she put the matter from her mind and made her way to the motor.

"Is there something you needed me for, Monsieur?"

"As a matter of fact, there is. Would you mind showing Enjolras to his room while I help sort his luggage?" Marius asked, turning to face his friend. "We're not quite as grand as some other houses. We don't have a valet or chauffeur, but—"

"Marius, I am perfectly capable of dressing myself."

"Right this way, monsieur," Eponine cut in before Marius could protest. Now that she had been given a task, it was easier to slip into her role and forget Azelma's troubling attitude. "If you'll follow me."

She didn't wait for him before trudging up the walkway—she could tell exactly where he was from the sound of gravel crunching under his boots. He didn't ask any questions about the Gillenormand estate either, and for that she was grateful.

Upon entering the house, Eponine fought the urge to mutter obscenities under her breath. The foyer was crowded with no less than thirteen maids, each sneaking admiring glances at Antinous reborn while half-heartedly polishing and dusting already pristine furniture. Worst of all was Azelma—her sister was too busy staring dreamily from the top of the stairs to even try and pretend to work.

Thankfully, Enjolras was indifferent to the gaggle of blushing maids. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the portrait hanging over the telephone desk near the stairs.

"Who is this man?" His voice was a cool, clipped baritone that seemed to ring out through the room. Eponine tried her best to ignore the wave of soft sighs that followed.

"Monsieur Pontmercy. Monsieur Marius' father. He passed three years ago," Eponine answered. She was anxious to get him upstairs and to his room before Madame Hucheloup, the housekeeper, decided to investigate where all her housemaids had gone.

"And what sort of man was he?"

"It is not my place to say, monsieur. Perhaps it would be better to ask Monsieur Marius."

Eponine fidgeted as his eyes searched hers again. Hands clasped behind his back, Enjolras turned his body to face her. "Marius has already told me about his father. I would hear what you would say. Your honest opinion."

Most days, Eponine did not spare a thought for the portrait of George Pontmercy. It was a handsome painting, of that there was no doubt. But his painted smile rendered the portrait false. In life, his shoulders had slumped with the weight of the world. In life, his face had been lined with worry and despair. In life, Eponine had never seen him happy.

"He was...kind, monsieur. Kind...and sad. But you must be tired, how silly of me to keep you waiting." Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but she was already halfway up the stairs. Cheeks flushed, Eponine decided then and there that she did not like Monsieur Enjolras.


For the past week and a half, Eponine had found herself wishing their guest had stayed in Paris. If it wasn't his "golden hair" or the "intensity of his gaze," the maids were blathering on about how courteous he was or his very vocal support of furthering class equality.

It didn't help that he seemed to be there every time she turned around.

In the mornings, he was always in the gardens while she helped Marie hang the washing. He spent his days lurking in the library, his name filling up three whole sheets in the ledger when she went to borrow a book during the afternoon lull between two and three o'clock. Sometimes, she found him in the stables grooming the horses when she went to seek out Gavroche, who had started his apprenticeship shortly after Enjolras arrived.

And even though her brother idolized him—nevermind Azelma, who fancied herself marrying him—her opinion of him failed to improve. In fact, it had soured even more after that ill-fated meeting at the cottages the night before. And now, Marius had sent word that he did not intend to take lunch. He was angry with her, a notion that left her stomach roiling.

"Eponine, what is wrong with you today girl? Are you not well?" She jumped as Madame Hucheloup slipped a cool hand over her forehead. "I've told you three times now that there's a young man at the back door waiting to speak with you."

"What?" Eponine's brows furrowed in confusion.

"A man. At the door. To see you." Madame Hucheloup frowned. "I can send him away if you're feeling ill."

"Who?"

"He didn't say what his name was, but your sister seems to know him," the housekeeper said with a shrug. "Mind you don't take too long. We've still got a lot to do before dinner!"

Eponine's blood ran cold as she ran off, leaving Madame Hucheloup muttering under her breath. Sure enough, he was there, leaning against the doorframe as Azelma hung onto his every word. He was older now—more stubble, his face more angular—but judging by his fine clothes, prison had failed to instill the fear of God into Montparnasse.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed, shoving a startled Azelma behind her.

"It's nice to see you too, Eponine," Montparnasse said, enunciating each syllable of her name. His smile was still the same—slow, confident and full of poison. It was enough to send chills down her spine.

"Parnasse says Maman and Papa are in Paris now and they want us to come with them. Isn't that exciting?"

"Hush, Azelma," she snapped. "Madame Hucheloup is looking for you. There are still preparations for dinner," she added more gently when she noticed the hurt expression on her sister's face. It was easy to forget that a very long time ago, a kinder Montparnasse would come around with candies stashed in his pockets. They were stolen of course, but it had made Azelma and Gavroche so happy.

"The years have been very good to you 'Ponine," Montparnasse drawled as he laid a gentle kiss on her hand once Azelma had disappeared from sight.

"I can't say the same for you," she said, snatching her hand back and wiping it on her apron. "What are you doing here? Is what Azelma said true?"

"'Ponine, you wound me," he said, laying a hand over his heart. "I've spent the last three years dreaming of you, but you've forgotten me completely."

"This is the last time I'll ask. Why are you here?"

A scowl twisting his handsome features, Montparnasse dusted an imaginary piece of lint from his suit jacket. "It's as your sister says. Your parents have sold the inn in Bordeaux and returned to Paris to to seek their fortunes." Eponine rolled her eyes. Gambled it away again more like.

"So why have they sent you? They could've written," Eponine said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I've come to fetch you." He flashed her a toothy smile. "Playing maid to some little lordling doesn't suit you, 'Ponine."

"I think it suits me just fine."

Montparnasse frowned. "Come now. Whatever happened to the girl I knew? She would have been the queen of this house, not some no-name servant." He trailed a gloved hand down her cheek, leaning in until she could feel the heat of his breath tickle her ear. "What happened to my Eponine?"

Shutting her eyes, Eponine let out a shaky sigh. She remembered that girl very well. The one who had pretty dresses and dolls and all the books she could ever want. Before Azelma and Gavroche. Before Marius. Before things went bad. Or at least, before she was old enough to understand who her parents really were.

"She woke up," she said, pushing him away. Anyone could walk by and it wouldn't do for an unmarried girl to be seen so close to a man she had no attachment to. "And my parents didn't send you. The amount Azelma and I send them every month is more than generous. Why are you really here Parnasse? And don't lie."

"Come. Walk with me," he said as he offered her his arm. "And don't make that face. It's a story best kept from overly curious ears."

Walking in silence, Eponine led her childhood friend toward a secluded pathway near the stables. Marius was not an avid rider and was unlikely to happen across them there. And in any case, she could easily tell Madame Hucheloup she had been checking in on her brother.

"Well, Montparnasse. Out with it. I don't have all day."

"As my lady commands," he said sneering. "You're to put in your notice and marry me at summer's end. Then we'll make our way to Paris, but not before cleaning out this lot."

Eponine blinked. "Don't be mad."

"There's nothing mad about it. You're of age now, and this was settled years ago," Montparnasse said, clenching his teeth.

"I refuse."

"You can't. It's been decided."

"I never agreed to marry you. You can't force me to marry you. I don't want to marry you. I won't marry you. I'll never marry you." The words tumbled out of her mouth in a jumbled stream, her voice pitching higher and louder as she went on. Heart thudding in her chest, she watched as Montparnasse's handsome face grew redder and redder until he balled his hands into fists at his sides.

"Love, you're not fooling anyone," he spat. Without warning, his arms were coiled around her like a snake grabbing hold of its prey, his embrace tight and constricting, his breath hot and sour against her ear as he whispered, "He'll never even look twice at you. Oh yes, I know all about him—Azelma can be quite the chatterbox. I know who stole my pretty little Ponine."

"Please 'Parnasse. You're hurting me. Just let me go," she choked.

"Am I Parnasse now?" he laughed. "No Ponine, I don't think so. I don't let go of what's mine."

Eponine shut her eyes, willing herself not to let hot tears spill down her face. She had been so careful. She hadn't written or breathed a word about her feelings for Marius to anyone. How could he know?

"Is there a problem here?"

Montparnasse's grip suddenly loosened. Opening her eyes, Eponine bit back a sob of relief as Enjolras stepped out of the stables, a frightened Gavroche peeking out from behind him.

"No monsieur," Montparnasse said with a slight bow, a mocking grin on his face. "Eponine and I have known each other all our lives. What's a friendly greeting between old companions?" He winked at her brother. "Hullo Gavroche. Long time no see."

Her brother shrank and cowered behind Enjolras, who rested an assuring hand on the boy's head.

"I wasn't speaking to you," Enjolras snapped. With two quick strides, he had stepped between her and Montparnasse. "Mademoiselle," he took her hand into his, "are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Not trusting herself to speak, Eponine shook her head.

"Now see here—"

"Leave. Before I summon the police. Inspector Javert will not be so forgiving."

Montparnasse shot her a dirty look before storming off toward the main pathway, throwing a kick at Gavroche, who was now clutching her skirt, as he passed. It wasn't until the brim of his hat had disappeared into the horizon that Eponine felt like she could finally breathe again.

"T-thank you, monsieur," she said, quickly slipping her hand from his. It was surprisingly callused for a scholar. The harsh words she had spat at him the night before rang loudly in her ears, shame prickling at her conscience.

"Did you know that man?" Eponine studied the uneven blades of grass underneath her shoes. Cheeks aflame, she could feel Enjolras' gaze boring into her skull.

"N-no, monsieur. I knew the boy he was, not the man he became."

"I see," he said, turning toward the house. "I'll fetch Marius. The police need to be informed and a proper report made—"

"No, you can't!" She blurted. Her hands had grasped the edge of his crimson waistcoat, causing Eponine to blush. "I mean, please. Please don't tell Monsieur Marius. Monsieur Gillenormand is not fond of our family. I could lose my place."

Standing very still, Enjolras' face seemed as if it had been etched from stone. The only sign of his displeasure was the speed in which his stormy eyes darted furiously between her, Gavroche and the house. Eponine could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he weighed his options.

"Very well," he said, his mouth forming a grim line. "Gavroche, inform Madame Hucheloup your sister has fallen ill and I have sent her to get some rest. I shall escort her back to the house."

Gavroche took off without another word, leaving her speechless and mouth agape. Not that he noticed—Enjolras had already started walking toward the house.

"Monsieur, wait!" she called out as she scurried after him.

"Yes?"

"How much did you hear? How much did my brother hear"

For the first time since he arrived, Enjolras averted his gaze to mask his expression behind a curtain of curls. "Enough," he said, clearing his throat. "I won't tell. Consider it an apology for upsetting you last night."

With that he turned abruptly and resumed walking toward the house. Watching him, Eponine couldn't help but notice the strange beating of her heart.

Marius, what strange friends you have.


The next morning, Marius had summoned her to his room and bade her to tell him everything she knew about Mademoiselle Fauchelevent. She recognized the new sparkle in his eye, the lightness in his step, the breathlessness of his voice—and it sucked all the air out of her lungs.

When she said she knew nothing other than one unpleasant experience at the market—an event that had never happened—it was the first time she had willfully ever lied to Marius.

Cosette. The little lark and her mother had lived at the inn in Montfermeil for two years when they were children. Her name hadn't been Fauchelevent back then. There hadn't been a father either. But it mattered little. The scraggly little girl who had trailed behind her and Azelma now had everything Eponine ever wanted.

The least she could have done was been a hateful wretch. But no. Cosette was pleasant, well-mannered and exactly the type of girl that boys like Marius were supposed to fall in love with. Sitting with him over the past two days, helping him pin down his affections for another woman into words, Eponine had transformed herself into a less homely Cyrano de Bergerac.

The offending letter sat heavily in her apron pocket. Marius had written it that morning, and Cosette Fauchelevent was set to travel to Paris on the five o'clock train. She ran her fingers along the fine paper of the envelope. It burned against her skin.

Not unlike the mysterious fever eating away at Enjolras.

Eponine sighed as she moved to replace the towel on his forehead with another from a basin of cool water. The fever had struck him suddenly and without mercy after dinner with the Fauchelevents. A doctor had been by that morning, but after an hour of hemming and hawing, could find no cause for his sudden illness. Marius had entrusted her with his care—a charge which made her heart both sing with pride and fill with unease.

"You are the most troublesome guest we've ever had," she whispered. Despite her dislike of the man, he had saved her from Montparnasse and treated Gavroche with kindness. So in some small way, it pained her to see him writhing in constant agony, limbs slick with sweat and twisted in the sheets. It was a small miracle that he had slept for the better part of an hour—ever since a winded, frantic Azelma had burst into the room with a strange tincture that she said had prescribed by the town doctor. She made Eponine swear to give it to him a dose every hour until his fever broke, and only then did her distraught sister agree to return to her duties.

Brushing aside his curls, which stuck to his forehead, Eponine frowned. For such a cold man, his skin felt like fire. "Monsieur Enjolras, wake up," she said, shaking his shoulder. "You must have your medicine."

Eyes fluttering open, Enjolras moaned as she threw his arm over her shoulder to prop him up against the pillows. His bleary eyes followed her movements as she uncorked the small green bottle Azelma had given her and mixed three small drops into a glass of water.

"I'm afraid this won't taste very pleasant monsieur," she said. "But I've been instructed you must drink all of it."

"Give it here," he croaked, reaching out for the glass with a shaky hand. "I'm not a child."

Eponine bit her tongue, reminding herself that sick men were exempt from the rules of polite society. True to his word, he drank the entire mixture in one go, grimacing as he wiped the remains from his lips with his sleeve before succumbing to a fit of violent coughs.

"There, there, monsieur," Eponine said, gently rubbing his back as she pried the glass from his hand before it dropped and shattered on the floor. "I warned you it wouldn't be pleasant."

"Thank you," he said once the coughing had subsided. "I am sorry to take you away from your duties."

"Monsieur Marius has charged me with your recovery. Taking care of you is my duty," she said. Wiping his brow, she did her best to avoid his stare. Even with a deathly pallor, he was still a beautiful man.

"Do you always do what Marius tells you?"

"Yes. Even if we are childhood friends, I am still a maid gainfully employed in his service," Eponine said.

Enjolras sat in silence for a few moments, his brow furrowed in thought. "And does he know you're in love with him?"

"I-I beg your pardon?" she sputtered.

"I asked if Marius was aware of your affections."

Eponine's mouth hung open.

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then," he said dryly. "Then forgive me for being blunt, but I feel I owe you this kindness. Marius fancies himself in love with Mademoiselle Fauchelevent."

"I-I know," she said softly, her eyes dropping back down her to her lap. Brushing her fingertips against the outline of the letter in her pocket, she felt the warm prick of tears welling up in her eyes.

"I am here, not in your lap. It's rude not to look at the person you're speaking to."

"Why do you always say such horrible things to people? Have you no compassion?"

"None for idiocy."

"Loving someone is not idiocy," Eponine hissed.

"No, love is never idiocy," Enjolras said slowly. "But Marius does not and will never love you in that way."

Eponine inwardly cursed herself as she felt hot, fat tears trickle down her cheeks. She didn't trust herself to speak, lest her words be swallowed by gasping sobs. Shoulders heaving, she tried to bury her face in her hands when she felt his fingers burn against her wrists. You are cruel, monsieur. You will not even let me mourn my broken heart.

"I would not have you waste your tears on Marius Pontmercy," he said softly. "Marius has always been a blind fool, but you are only an idiot if you refuse to face the truth."

"I wish you had never come here," she whispered through clenched teeth.

Enjolras' lips twisted in a grimace as he quickly let go of her wrists. Leaning back against the pillows, he made no motion to stop her as she finally covered her face with her hands.

"Cry then. I will not try to stop you."

This time, Eponine did not hesitate to obey.


Eponine spotted the lark just before the train pulled in. It wasn't hard. Cosette had always stood out amongst the crowd. She had had every intention of telling Marius she hadn't been able to reach Cosette in time, but Enjolras' words would not let her rest—even now they still echoed inside her head.

"Mademoiselle Fauchelevent!"

The light from the setting sun bounced off Cosette's curls as she turned from the train, and suddenly, Eponine was struck by a sense of calm and the pangs of regret. The orange-red light had created an almost heavenly halo and for the first time, she understood without jealousy why Cosette had been the one to steal Marius' heart. Dumbly, she held out the letter from her pocket.

"A letter from Marius Pontmercy," she said. Cosette's shy smile should have been enough to send a knife through her, but before the lark could offer any thanks, they were interrupted by the shrill of the conductor's whistle.

Eponine did not wait. She curtseyed quickly and ran in the other direction, her heart pounding against her ribs. She may have been a fool and an idiot and blind, but her conscience was clear.


AN: Kudos if you made it this far. I just kept writing and writing and writing. So a couple of small references to Endless Waltz thrown in here and there. There'll be more of the reincarnation bits in future chapters, but this was mostly here to set up the first world of the "revolution" cycle.

That Enjolras. Whatta heartbreaker, eh?