Les Hommes de la Misericorde
(Men of Mercy)
A/N: Many thanks as usual to ariadneslostthread, who gave me the ideas for the dancing scenes in this chapter ages ago and I am super excited to finally be able to use them! Enjoy the chapter!
Chapter 35: Wedding Day
The house is quiet the evening before Marius and Cosette's wedding. Truth be told, this surprises Valjean, particularly as the house is doubled in occupancy: Enjolras and Courfeyrac's families arrived as they promised, having bonded with Cosette during their visit, and M. Gillenormand has arrived as well. It will be a small but merry ceremony, Valjean imagines, hoping that everything goes smoothly with the plan they've devised for Enjolras' disguise.
There's a knock at his door, and out of habit, Valjean jumps, ever ready for the shadow around the corner, the threat in every alley, a mark of his vigilance and conditioning ever since he broke his parole in the first place.
"Papa?" Cosette's voice asks. "Might I come in?"
"Of course," he responds closing the book he was really only pretending to read and offering up a smile as she enters.
She's in her nightclothes and dressing gown, hair plaited as it always is before sleep even if sleep appears to be the last thing on her mind.
"I thought I might find you here," she says, sitting down in the chair on the other side of the desk, the ornately carved block of wood separating them. "Not sleeping either?"
"I don't require all that much sleep, as you know," he says, a fond smile forming on his lips. "But tonight in particular, I admit I am too overcome with my own thoughts to sleep."
"I share that same feeling," Cosette replies, returning his smile, and resting her chin in her hands, elbows perched on the desk. "You know, Papa, I had the most horrid dream last night."
Valjean's ears perk up, and he frowns slightly.
"A nightmare? Why did you not tell me?"
"I didn't tell anyone," Cosette says. "It was something so awful that I was afraid to share it. I don't wholly know why but…" she trails off.
"I understand," Valjean says. And he does. Perhaps better than anyone else. "But may I ask what you dreamt?"
Cosette blushes, but looks at him straight on, unafraid if a little embarrassed.
"I dreamt that you disappeared after my wedding," she says, a melancholy disturbing her contentment. "And I couldn't find you anywhere. I didn't know where you'd gone." She pauses, fixing a serious expression on her face, and once more Valjean is surprised at just how well Cosette's gaze seems to bore down into his soul. "Papa forgive me, but…you wouldn't ever leave or try to separate yourself from me, would you?"
Valjean hesitates: old habits die hard, and it's his instinct to evade the question. It's not lying, exactly, but a refusal to tell the truth for what he feels is Cosette's own protection. But he contemplates her expression, remembers their long, heartfelt conversation in the Luxembourg Gardens, remembers the path they've traveled since he brought the boys home from the barricade. He breathes in, releasing slowly and allowing his daughter, for one of the few times since he took her in, to see his vulnerability in full.
"There might have been a time, a circumstance in which I might have tried to separate myself from you," he admits. "Never for a desire to do so, but because I always feared my past would ruin you. With Inspector Javert no longer a threat that seems less likely, but I have never thought myself worthy of you, my dear."
Cosette moves to speak but Valjean's hand silences her, and he continues.
"I am not so talented at forgiving myself for the wrongs I have done," he says. "But I am trying to be better. You have helped immensely with that. Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Grantaire, Marius, and Gavroche have helped with that. It is a process, even at my age."
"Papa," Cosette whispers. "All the good, the immense good you've done far outweighs any ill. You have changed people's lives. Saved them. Saved me. Please, say you won't go."
There is a shade of desperation in her tone he has not heard since she was small, and their hands reach out simultaneously for each other, meeting in the middle with a soft exchange of smiles. Cosette's is anxious until she sees one of Valjean's very rare easy grins slide onto his face, thinking of just how happy his daughter will be tomorrow.
"I promise my dear," Valjean says, fear lacing through him even as he says the words, but he brushes it away. He will not run any longer, he will trust in this sense of peace, and feels he can do so while still being careful, particularly with Enjolras' situation. He can live fully while still being vigilant, he thinks. He can, at least, try.
At this, Cosette smiles wide and squeezes her father's hand. She sits back again, a draft of melancholy sweeping over face again.
"Do you think…do you know if my mother would be proud of me?" Cosette asks, her voice a mix of young woman and child all at once.
Valjean starts a little, trying to hide it. He is still unused to discussing Fantine so openly with Cosette, but it makes sense, now especially, that she would want to talk about her mother, would miss the woman of whom she only recalls blurry images and vague words, built up as a martyr in her head.
"She would be proud of you for being the exceptional young woman you are," Valjean tells her. "Married or not. Though I know she would be pleased to see you so immensely happy with Marius. I did not know her long, but I know that you were everything to her. I know how I'm feeling right now, how joyous I am for you, and I imagine she would feel much the same. Does feel the same, as she watches over you."
There are tears, and Cosette lets them fall, sunlight in her eyes and melancholy on her lips.
"She sacrificed everything for me," Cosette whispers, an odd mix of the little girl Valjean knew so well and the young woman she is. "I don't know how to honor that, I don't…"
Valjean reaches across the desk, bridging the gap between them covering one of Cosette's hands with his much larger one, and using the other to tilt her face up toward his.
"Be happy," he says, matching her tone. "Live your life fully and without regret, when you can. That is what she would want for you."
Cosette nods, and Valjean finally moves out from behind the desk, resting on his knees in front of her and taking both of her hands in his, similar to what he'd done with Enjolras a few weeks previous. There is a fierce look on his daughter's face, and with a smack of realization, he sees that there are embers in her eyes that look as if they have been lit by Enjolras' fire, by all of the fire in each of those young men and the spirits of their friends. It is her own, and though he does not sense that she is off to build barricades, he knows she wants to do something.
"My mother didn't have very much opportunity to be happy," Cosette says, looking him in the eyes. "Because society was merciless to her. Cruel. It wasn't fair to her, it wasn't fair to you. To Feuilly, to Gavroche. To Eponine. My mother was blessed to find you, and I was blessed you found me, just as Feuilly and Gavroche were blessed to find their friends that gave them a family. Imagine if you had not come for me? I would have been left to live on the streets much as they were. It is to Feuilly's immense credit that he found a way for himself in the world, who knows if I could have? But I want to do something, I want…" she trails off again, unsure where her thoughts are going.
"You've been reading the books Enjolras and Combeferre received from their rooms," Valjean surmises, saying the words slowly and with a question at the end.
"Yes," she admits. "And reading those words, and through my own experiences, through the experiences of people I love…thinking of how happy I am and how she never really got the chance…I just want to do something. I want to change things. I don't know how, yet, but I want to do something."
"No barricades, I hope?" Valjean asks, voice slightly strained.
"Well," she says "I don't know how to shoot yet…"
"Cosette…"
"I'm teasing you Papa," she says, placing a hand on the side of his face, a smile returning to her lips. "I'm not planning on building barricades. But I want to do something."
At this, she slides her arms around his neck, hugging him with every ounce of love and affection resting inside her monumental heart.
"Thank you Papa," she says, her voice muffled a little against his collar. "For everything."
Valjean clears his throat, unsure if the words will come out.
"Thank you," he says, and he does need to specify, does not need to elaborate, because Cosette, in all the wisdom surprising for someone so young, knows what he means.
That she taught him, showed him in all its glory with her trust and her unconditional, trusting affection, what love is.
"Marius," Courfeyrac declares. "You fidget more than any human being I've ever met in my life. And that includes Enjolras when I attempt to dress him for parties."
"I'm sorry," Marius laments, truly apologetic. "I'm simply nervous."
"I know," Courfeyrac says, softening a bit. "But if you don't stand still a bit I'm never going to get this cravat tied properly, tightening your waistcoat was enough of a task."
Marius straightens then goes still, trying his best once again, and finally Courfeyrac finishes tying off the cream colored cravat.
"There," he says, patting Marius' cheek with affection. "I think that will about do."
Marius nods, but still feels unsure, sticking his hands into his pockets; just as quickly, Courfeyrac pulls them out again.
"You'll wrinkle them my good man," he teases, concern growing in his features as he realizes something's bothering Marius. "What's the matter?"
As ever, Marius wonders how he ended up as Courfeyrac's friend. Granted, Courfeyrac could befriend nearly anyone, but this was different. Somehow he had ended up one of Courfeyrac's closest friends and he's never really been certain why. He's never been sure why Courfeyrac seems to trust him and care for him as much as he does Enjolras or Combeferre, as much as he does any of the inner circle of Les Amis, whether dead or alive.
"Do I look all right?" Marius asks, evading.
"Did I not dress you?" Courfeyrac asks, lips forming a half smile drawn up with wit. "You look dashing. And not in all black, which is a good change. Your propensity for never wearing color always astounds me. But you are avoiding the question."
Marius curses Courfeyrac's ability to read him, to read anyone, so well. He's run away from it plenty of times, particularly when they were living together because once confronted, it was fairly impossible to avoid Courfeyrac. Marius averts his eyes, turning to look in the mirror again.
"We've only got a few minutes…"
"Marius," Courfeyrac says, channeling a bit of Enjolras with his determined, no nonsense tone.
"What if Cosette changes her mind?" Marius blurts out, voicing what even he knows is his most ridiculous fear that he cannot quite let go of. "What if she doesn't want to marry me? I'm…I'm not the sort to get married, am I? Women do not pay me mind, I am not cut out for this, Cosette is the only girl that ever noticed I was even alive, really, and maybe it was pity… I…"
"Marius," Courfeyrac says, very, very kind, taking him carefully by the shoulders and sitting him carefully in an empty chair. "Breathe for a moment, my friend. Listen to your words. Think."
Marius does, and finds that his breathing eases a bit.
"You know Cosette well, do you not?" Courfeyrac continues with the air of an older brother.
"Yes," Marius says. "Far better than I have known anyone. No one knows me better than she: not my grandfather, for certain, no matter his recent kindnesses, which I am grateful for."
"Then you know she would never notice you, and certainly would not marry you, out of pity," Courfeyrac says. "She loves you."
"She will be my family," Marius whispers, voice a tad tremulous. "We can start one of our own, have children. All of us will be family now. I did not have that as a child…well I did, but it's not the same…I mean to say…"
"Marius," Courfeyrac says a third time, silencing Marius' ramble. "I understand your meaning. I have not experienced it, but I understand: your mother died and you never knew your father because of your grandfather's actions."
"I had a family, but I was lonely so often that it did not always feel like a family," Marius admits. "I know my grandfather loves me, I know he is perhaps trying to make amends for his previous actions, I only…this is new for me, this kind of family. This life."
"I know," Courfeyrac says, a certain kind of sadness tracing his words, and Marius knows he is thinking of their fallen friends. "I also know it is sometimes common to fear things when they seem too good to be true, but you should believe in your love of Cosette and hers of you. It is beautiful and to be treasured." He squeezes Marius' hand in comfort. "Besides," he continues. "If you don't marry her I cannot then dance with her, and I will not be robbed of that, Marius Pontmercy."
At this, Marius cannot help but laugh, feeling the nerves (mostly) leave him.
"Well," Courfeyrac says, arching one eyebrow. "It appears as if I shall win that bet with Grantaire."
"What?" Marius exclaims, voice emerging with a bit of a squeak. "You made a bet about me? On my wedding day?"
"You cannot possibly be surprised," Courfeyrac says with a shake of his head. "Bahorel would be ashamed of me if I did not, so I did it in his memory. Though Prouvaire might scold me, I'm sure he would forgive. Besides, do not look so fretful, I bet that you would not pass out! Grantaire bet otherwise, so you should take it up with him. He's the one who doubted your stamina."
"You are so wicked perhaps I will not tell you about the news then," Marius replies.
Courfeyrac whips around. "Do not use my own sass against me, Pontmercy."
Marius, incapable of holding out, sighs with a roll of his eyes. "Fine. Valjean has convinced my grandfather to sell him the home in Avignon, on the grounds that it will be easier for him to upkeep if it's in his name. Then when the time comes, it will pass down to Cosette and myself."
"Clever man," Courfeyrac says with an approving nod. "Covering all of his points. I'm sure he'll feel a bit more secure with the entire story of why we're here with the home in his name. Besides that, your grandfather is an elderly man, and it is easier to keep up with less property at his age, I would imagine."
Marius is about to respond when his grandfather pokes his head into the room, a most pleased expression on his face: he is half in love with Cosette himself, and has been waiting for this day.
"Well my lad," he says. "It is time! Come, you must not keep the lady waiting."
"Indeed not!" Courfeyrac exclaims, ushering Marius out in front of him. "To the altar, sir! For your nuptials."
So Marius goes, his heart fluttering in his chest as the door closes behind him. Many things have ended, he thinks. Things have been difficult and painful and tumultuous. But things are also beginning. They are beginning here today as he weds Cosette, the girl who appeared as if out of a dream.
Today, he thinks, dreams are real.
Feuilly has never been to a wedding, but if all weddings were like this one, he decides, he would rather enjoy them. Well, aside from the guarding his fugitive friend in a disguise bit, but he supposes you can't have everything. Courfeyrac was busy with Marius, Combeferre was assisting Valjean with something in the back, and Grantaire, bless him, was far too amused at Enjolras' disguise to be trusted with watching him properly, so it fell to Feuilly, who didn't mind. He could tell Enjolras was uncomfortable with the outfit and also not very fond of having to be guarded, but put both aside in favor of being present for Marius and Cosette's wedding.
"You are fidgeting, Rene," Feuilly says with an easy smile. He is unused to addressing Enjolras by his first name, but here in public he must be referred to as 'Rene Fauchelevent' which Feuilly had caught Enjolras practicing saying to himself in the mirror this morning.
"Oh, my apologies," Enjolras says, looking over at him. "This coat is…rather itchy and a bit warm for the weather outside."
Feuilly runs his eyes over his friend: he's wearing a light wool coat, far too warm for August, his golden waves of hair stuffed up under a hat, shirt collar high and covering at least part of his face. The story for Marius' family friends and any locals who might ask is that Enjolras is Valjean's sickly son, recovering from illness and so must be kept warm inside the drafty church. Because Enjolras is, technically speaking, the brother of the bride, he and Feuilly must sit in the front row, and so Enjolras' fidgeting is noticeable.
"I do not believe the family friends will stay at the celebration very long," Feuilly says, leaning in to whisper into Enjolras' ear. "And we will be safely at home then, so hopefully you won't have to wear this for too much longer."
"It's all right," Enjolras lies, eyes flitting momentarily over to his parents and grandmother, who sit with Courfeyrac's parents a few rows behind them. Feuilly notices Violet wink at her grandson, and Flora notices, shaking her head, but there is an obvious twinkle in her eyes that look so much like her son's. Feuilly watches as Aubry catches his son's eye, and to Feuilly's immense surprise, winks as well. Enjolras looks a little taken aback but offers his father a smile before turning back around.
"Weddings," Enjolras mumbles. "They put something in the air."
"Indeed my friend," Feuilly says, distracted by Grantaire's voice on his other side.
"Marius looked so pale this morning I thought him a ghost," Grantaire says. "Courfeyrac and I have bet on whether or not he will pass out."
Feuilly raises his eyebrows. "You convinced the best man into betting on the groom?" he chides.
"It's Courfeyrac," Grantaire protests with a grin. "It didn't take any convincing." His smile falters a bit, but there's still light in his eyes. "Besides," he continues. "Joly and Bossuet would be ashamed if I didn't make a bet. I am not hoping to win necessarily, but we shall drink to the bet in their name either way. In the name of good fun at the slight expense of our dear friends."
"Yes we shall," Feuilly says, squeezing Grantaire's hand briefly, the same shared sentiment between them.
Grantaire leans around Feuilly to speak to Enjolras, a spark of mischief in his eyes now.
"Doing all right, Rene?" Grantaire says, emphasizing the name. Feuilly shakes his head fondly: Grantaire always had an odd way of teasing Enjolras that Enjolras was never quite able to decipher as teasing and that Grantaire veiled under mountains of allusions and miscommunication, but now there's a new, fragile easiness between them, and even as Enjolras gives Grantaire a reprimanding glare, his lips quirk upward.
"Ah, nearly time," Combeferre whispers, sliding in on the other side of Enjolras.
"Is V…" Enjolras begins, almost forgetting himself. "Is my father all right?"
"Calm as ever, oddly," Combeferre says with a sly smile. "Hands are a bit shaky but I'm sure that's to be expected."
Soft music coming from the piano alerts Feuilly to the presence of Marius and Courfeyrac coming to stand in the front. Marius does look pale, Feuilly sees, but it seems as if he will maintain consciousness so far. But there is a light in his eyes Feuilly scarcely recalls seeing before, bright and unending. Courfeyrac of course, is practically beaming, hands gently moving Marius a little closet to the altar and brushing off the edge of his jacket. Their waistcoats are complementary shades of blue: Courfeyrac's is dark navy, Marius' light and pale, both with silver buttons, both selected by Courfeyrac.
"Courfeyrac looks nearly as pleased as Marius," Grantaire mutters in his ear, amused.
"Well," Feuilly replies, smirking. "You know Courfeyrac. He likes to play matchmaker, loves encouraging these things. And I'm sure he heard more about Cosette from Marius than any of us."
Louder music begins and Feuilly makes to stand, noting that Enjolras, despite his injury, is already up, leaning a bit on his cane, the other hand grasping the wood of the pew as he turns around to look at Cosette, a wide smile slipping onto his face. Feuilly cannot help but smile in return at that. Enjolras doesn't even really need to pretend to be the happy brother, because he already is, blood ties or no. And in that moment as Cosette walks slowly up the aisle on Valjean's arm, the older man looking as if he might actually be glowing, Feuilly realizes something: he has a family here. He'd always had a family among Les Amis of course, that was undeniable, and they were the first people he'd truly trusted, truly felt at home with since he was a child. The bond between all of them was not something easily severed. But he'd always known they also had families at home, something he did not. But now… now there is something different. Four of their friends are dead, never lost to them, but beyond their physical reach, and this event, added onto most certainly by Enjolras' fugitive status and the fact that none of them can really return to Paris in the near future, has cemented their bonds even further. They are forming a family now that is separate from everything they've ever known, securing places and a home that are at least some semblance of permanent. Avignon is their home now, and despite all the grief he feels in his heart for his lost friends, despite the heartache he feels at having lost at the barricades, despite the turmoil and the uncertainty, he feels safe. For Feuilly, this is saying much. Safety is not a thing he's felt for a long time, and it sits well in his chest. They will continue their work, he is certain, they will make a difference, and they will keep fighting. Together. Perhaps it is odd for him to feel safety in such a circumstance, but he does nonetheless.
Gavroche passes by him after Cosette, having been talked into minding the train because no matter his very vocal complaints about dressing in finery, he cannot truly refuse Cosette anything. He winks at the four of them as he walks by, carrying the rings. With his tuft of blonde hair tied back, he looks, Feuilly muses, a little bit like Enjolras might have as a child, though his expression is decidedly a bit more impish.
"Hmm," Combeferre says, amused. "I see his hair is his tied back like yours again, Enjolras."
Enjolras rolls his eyes, but blushes a little, though Feuilly is certain he'd swear it was a touch of fever. "It's long and this is a special occasion, of course it is," he insists.
They all fall silent as Cosette and Valjean reach the altar, and the older man takes both of his daughter's hands in his, looking in her eyes with a lifetime of emotions contained within, and knowing as much of Valjean's story as he's divulged, Feuilly feels himself choking up a little at the sight. For Valjean, this is the happiest moment of his life because finally he feels as if the person he loves most will be well taken care of, will be happy for certain. His face radiates joy, and Feuilly knows he's never seen him this joyous, and it is a lifetime in the making. He imagines an exhausted, desperate Valjean, broken by poverty stealing that bread from the window for his sister's starving children, arrested and sent to the galleys. Treated like nothing more than an animal in the eyes of an unforgiving society whose rules are merciless. Yet one man had shown Valjean kindness and instead of ignoring that as a fluke, Valjean took it, learned from it, letting it soak into his soul. So here he stands now, well and simply put together, walking his daughter to the altar. He kisses her forehead, and for a moment Feuilly is reminded of how Enjolras looked at the top of the barricade, pure love radiating from him. That love had been for friend and country, but it wears the same as Valjean's for his daughter, something almost too powerful for this world. Valjean puts Cosette's hand in Marius', squeezing the younger man's shoulder once before coming to sit at the end of the pew next to Grantaire.
"Congratulations monsieur," Feuilly whispers, feeling his respect for this man burgeon hot and strong in the center of his chest.
"Thank you my boy," Valjean says, offering a smile to Feuilly.
The child still resting within Feuilly, the child who still misses his own father very much sometimes, fills with glee at the term of endearment, one Valjean seems to use more and more frequently with all of them.
"All right, Rene?" Valjean asks, winking at Enjolras.
Enjolras nods quietly, a fond twinkle in his blue eyes that Feuilly knows well is reserved for the people he loves most, and not an expression he offers just anyone. All their eyes fall back on Marius and Cosette and though Feuilly hears the words, he hones in on their faces as the ceremony begins. Cosette's dark blonde hair falls in curls down her back, a departure from the pinned up style Feuilly knows is common for such occasions, eyes glowing with the happiness of someone who knows what it is to suffer. Cosette is a small slip of a girl, but Feuilly knows from experience what kind of strength she contains within, a sweetness that is remarkable for someone who has been through the things she has. He's felt a connection to Cosette since the start, given his own life and circumstance, and he treasures her like the little sister he never had.
While he's always liked Marius (they've had several very good conversations on languages) they've never been exceedingly close and found him rather bewildering in the past, but as he's gotten to know him better, seen him grow and change and adapt, expanding his mind in the presence of Les Amis and most particularly in the past months since the barricade fell, an affection for their youngest member has grown in Feuilly's heart separate from his usual role as Courfeyrac's particular friend. Marius loves Cosette with every ounce of his person, that much is clear, and seeing these two joined together sets Feuilly's heart alight: Cosette is the daughter of a poor woman who sacrificed everything for her daughter, a daughter she was forced to give up, a daughter who ended up being raised by a man who had once been in poverty himself, a convict who ran from his parole and had to live life in secrecy. Marius was the grandson of a very wealthy man who had, at least at one time, been a very ardent royalist, growing up in luxury, at least in physical sense (in light of his recent overflow of generosity, Feuilly is doing his best to forgive M. Gillenormand's treatment of Marius). Society's current rules would spill forth a thousand reasons why they shouldn't be together, and yet here they were before him, joining in marriage, their lonely souls no longer so in each other.
Feuilly isn't always certain where he stands on the idea of miracles, but right now in this moment, he's certain he sees one right before him, small as it may seem.
Progress, he thinks, is beautiful.
Cosette is sure she's never been quite this happy.
Well, she considers, perhaps the day Papa came and took her away from the Thenardiers, that was arguably tied for the happiest day of her life, though that day had been so muddled with hearing of the death of her mother, of being so incredibly surprised at someone coming to rescue her, that she thinks she didn't feel the full impact of that until months later on a random afternoon eating dinner with her newly found adoptive father. He'd smiled at her as they were eating, a real, genuine expression reserved just for her, and in that moment, her seven-year-old self somehow knew this man, this parent, was not going to leave her. Something in her spirit melded with his in that moment, something that could not be undone.
They've arrived back at the house now, and Cosette sits by Marius' side on the back veranda while everyone eats, her hand resting in his as he speaks to a couple that have long been friends with M. Gillenormand, and one of the few who made the journey to Avignon for the wedding. The sun is high in the sky, but it is not too warm, an ideal mid-summer day by all accounts. Her attention drifts away from the conversation at hand, her eyes landing on Courfeyrac, who stands in front of one of the tables containing his family and Enjolras' (who, for the sake of Enjolras' disguise, are pretending to be old family friends of her Papa) and seems to be entertaining them most thoroughly with a story she cannot quite make out. He gestures exuberantly with his arms without spilling a drop of his wine, a talent Marius says he spent significant time perfecting. A moment later he draws an downright jolly laugh from Aubry, and grins. Violet, she notes, has taken hold of Gavroche, who sits next to her, grinning at whatever story she's telling him, likely something about American Revolutionary War about which she has a great plethora of tales to tell.
Courfeyrac, she thinks, is most certainly in his element.
Her eyes dart over to the next table, where Combeferre, Enjolras, Grantaire, and Feuilly sit. Much like Courfeyrac, Grantaire appears to be the entertainer of that table, in the best mood Cosette thinks she's seen him in since they met. Combeferre is shaking his head and laughing at the story, Feuilly is outwardly chuckling, and Enjolras is smiling. The name Joly catches her ear, and she shares the smile. She knows they are all still grieving, still in pain, but it is so nice to hear them talking about their friends and laughing, sharing good memories of them. Not for the first time, she wishes she could have met the four missing pieces of their little family by force of friendship. She eyes the patio, which has been turned into a small dance floor by Courfeyrac and Flora's efforts, with a little help from Madame de Courfeyrac and Grantaire. She looks back up at Enjolras, and has an idea.
"Darling," she says, turning to Marius. "Since we've had our first dance would you mind terribly if I asked Rene to dance?"
Marius grins almost instantly, raising his eyebrows, amused. For an instant, there is a flicker of Courfeyrac in his face.
"Do be my guest," he says, sounding as if he is not convinced Enjolras will dance. He kisses her hand. "I was just about to go over and speak with your father and my grandfather," he continues, gesturing to the corner where the two are talking. Cosette is not surprised to see her father off to the side of even this small party: he's never been much for crowds and immensely social situations.
Before she can turn to go, Marius pulls her to him, as close as is proper in front of others, and kisses her lightly on the lips, and she feels the happiness spread to the tips of her toes as she scrunches them up in her shoes. Pink tinges Marius' cheeks even now, and he squeezes her hand as they separate.
Enjolras is the first one to spot her as she approaches, and he looks at her quizzically when she holds her hand out to him.
"Dance with your dearly beloved sister on her wedding day?" she asks, teasing in her voice, but she still loves saying the words.
"Oh," Enjolras says, eyes round as Combeferre smirks next to him. "I don't…my leg. And this ensemble is not entirely conducive…"
"Your leg will be fine for a bit," Combeferre says, speaking up.
"I'll hold you up, don't worry," Cosette says, taking his hand before he can refuse. "Though you may have to let me lead."
"All right," Enjolras consents. "But I don't know how quality of a dancer I am."
"That is a lie," Grantaire immediately informs Cosette. "I have seen Enjolras dance before begrudgingly at a party or two. He is very light on his feet."
"So Courfeyrac has told me," Cosette replies.
Enjolras sighs. "Do you spend some kind of inordinate amount of time speaking about me when I am not present?"
"A fair amount," Cosette says without pause, looking over at Feuilly, who has remained quiet as though he does not want her to notice him for fear she will ask him to dance as well. "You are next in line, Feuilly," she says pointedly. "No one is allowed to refuse the bride on her wedding day."
"Of course not," Feuilly says, finally meeting her eye. "But I warn you: I really am a bad dancer."
"Not as terrible as me," Combeferre states. "Now off with the two of you."
So they go, and Cosette puts them out on the side of the dance floor, leaning Enjolras' cane up against a table and gesturing for him to rest his weight on her.
"You are happy," Enjolras says simply.
"Yes, exceedingly so," she replies, starting to lead, only really knowing how because she'd insisted her father teach her how as a little girl. "That outfit looks uncomfortable."
"It is a bit itchy," he admits. "And that hat a bit stuffy, but it is not too terrible when all is said and done."
"Perhaps if your hair did not glow with the light of the revolution," Cosette says, laughing mid-sentence. "Then we would not have to hide it so."
"You have been talking with Courfeyrac," Enjolras says knowingly, both exasperated and affectionate all at once.
"Courfeyrac will scheme with me more than anyone else," she says, proud. "So yes, of course I have."
At that moment a blur of blue catches both their eyes and neither can help but laugh when they see Courfeyrac half-dragging a protesting Marius out onto the dance floor, insisting something about how the best man is owed a dance with the bride AND the groom for all of his trouble.
"Courfeyrac is very in his element here," Enjolras says, smiling over at the other pair.
"I was just thinking that myself!" Cosette exclaims.
"He practically glows in situations like these," Enjolras says, fond. "I am not as talented, I fear, but Courfeyrac always makes me feel exceedingly comfortable whenever I'm with him at a party."
"It is his best talent," Cosette agrees. "But do not give yourself so little credit: you are quite charming."
"I suppose," Enjolras says. "If you say so then it must be true."
"Is that teasing I hear, Rene?" she asks, laughing as he leads for a brief moment in order that he might twirl her about.
"I am not always so serious," he protests.
"No," she says, taking the lead again as she feels Enjolras trying hard not to lean on her. She pulls him a little closer, silently letting him know that it's okay. "I have heard enough tales of your puns to know that."
"Now you have been talking to Combeferre."
"Indeed I have."
"Combeferre rolls his eyes at my puns yet laughs uproariously to himself when he comes up with a clever one," Enjolras replies. "It is a most confounding contradiction. Though I imagine we all contradict ourselves sometimes."
"We do," Cosette says. She pauses, then goes ahead, saying what's on her mind. "You know, I am rather pleased to have a brother like you. I always wanted a brother. Now I feel I have several."
"I am pleased to stand in," he answers, sincere. "And I am glad I could be here today. I am sorry for the trouble it might have caused."
"Oh hush," Cosette, says, swatting him gently on the arm. "Marius and I wanted you here. You intimidated him so at first, you know," she says. "So he told me. But then he grew to admire you so much. All of you. As for me, well, I feel as if I've known you all my life as opposed to just a few months. It's funny how that happens, isn't it?"
"It is," Enjolras says. "It seems as if some of the closest friendships I've had felt that way. It certainly did with all of the Amis." He winces a bit, hand instinctively letting go of Cosette to grab his leg.
"Oh!" she says. "Let's get you sitting down."
They're about to head back to the table where Combeferre, Feuilly, and Grantaire are sitting, until two people come up behind them.
"Here Enjolras let me help," Marius says, and it is a sign of Enjolras' own exhaustion that he accepts Marius' arm. He's been doing well and improving with rehabilitation, but he still has to build up not only his damaged leg muscles, but his entire body's endurance after being so ill for so long. "Cosette darling, please dance with Courfeyrac or he will never be quiet about it."
"Indeed I shall not," Courfeyrac says, emphasizing the last word, but looks at Enjolras with concern. "I have been saying for weeks that I must have a dance with the bride."
Enjolras smiles, nodding at Courfeyrac to let him know he's all right, and Courfeyrac nods back, taking hold of Cosette and twirling her about.
"I saw you leading Enjolras about Madame," he says. "Do show me."
Cosette laughs again agreement, sending Enjolras a smile in thanks as Marius helps him back to the table.
Yes, she thinks again. This is the happiest she's ever been. As she looks around at the people around her: Enjolras and Courfeyrac's families that have come here to support her and this new family they are all a part of now. The young men at the table next to them (Gavroche is now standing between Combeferre and Feuilly, who is fussing with the cravat they'd barely gotten him to wear) that are now an integral part of her life. Her gaze falls on her Papa, the man without whom she would most assuredly not be standing here, who somehow has been convinced over to talk with 's friends. She looks around for Marius, a bit alarmed when she doesn't see him. Then she hears his voice beside her, a hand held out.
"Might I cut in?" he asks, looking just a bit more handsome than she thinks he's ever seen him.
Courfeyrac grins again, putting Cosette's hand in Marius' before bowing slightly and going off to join his friends, leaving the couple alone on the dance floor.
"Are you happy?" Marius asks, shyness in his tone.
"Happier than I've ever been," she answers, resting her head on his chest. Surrounded by all these people she loves, dancing here in her new husband's arms, Cosette Pontmercy feels utterly, completely safe.