Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables or The Scarlet Pimpernel in any
way, shape, or form. That is all.
Please don't kill me. I've never read the Les Miserables book (although I intend to), and this fic may be a little weird. I'm a huge Gavroche fan, is the only reason that this is half Les Mis half Scarlet Pimpernel. Because I love Gavroche, and have since I was seven years old. I am screwing history allll up. I am a twisted moron. This may suck. You have been warned.
Because I find it difficult to portray children as...well, children..(I make them too deep or whatever) I've decided that Gavroche is a teenager. So there.
Happy Leap Year!
Prologue
"Long live the republic!" the crowds shouted as Madame Guillotine claimed her newest victim--the Countess de Tourney. Gavroche grinned. This was what he lived for. This was his element, the bloody streets of France. The revolution was at hand. Long live the republic!
Dashing through the streets, dodging cuffs and blows from annoyed citizens, he laughed. Nothing could stop him. He looked around at his surroundings as he slowed to a walk.
This was not where he had meant to come. In his excitement, he must have gotten turned around. The streets crawled with guards--he was at the prisons' entrance! No matter how he'd gotten here, this was an interesting place to be. Crawling onto some boxes shoved up against a wall, he scanned the street before him.
They were loading prisoners into the cart! Madame Guillotine was going to be satiated tonight. Gavroche grinned as the first prisoner was forced into the cart. An older man, richly dressed, though his clothes were stained with dirt and who knows what else now. A woman, presumably his wife, followed the man. She must have been pretty once, even beautiful, but her face sagged with worry and sorrow, casting tragic flaws among her features.
Gavroche licked his lips and waited for the next /i to be brought out. He wondered how they must feel, locked in that tower, knowing that the only escape for them was death. He wondered why they didn't fight the guards. He would have fought the guards, if they were taking him to death's door.
He caught a glimpse of a smaller figure, frogmarched by two guards into the cart. As he squinted, trying to see, the guards tied the person to the cart and went back into the prison. The figure turned around.
Why, it was a girl! She couldn't have been much older than him, if she was older at all. She was saying something to the woman tied at her left. Straining his ears, Gavroche listened.
"Mama, I'm frightened."
"I know, darling. I am too. We must pray to God, that he may receive our souls."
The girl began to cry. "I do not want Him to receive my soul, I want to keep it. I want to live."
The older man, tied on the other side of the cart, turned around as best he could. "Do not fear, my daughter, my Aledie. We will soon be safe. Remember Aledie, do not blame those that persecute you. Show them, be an example, of peace."
The girl--Aledie--nodded, stifling her sobs. "I love you Papa, Mama."
The cart started forward, drowning out the replies of her parents. Gavroche swallowed hard. This was not how he'd pictured the aristos. He'd always thought them rude, careless folks who didn't give a damn about people like himself.
The cart was coming toward him. Gavroche flattened himself against the wall and tried to be invisible.
The cart stopped next to his perch, and Aledie looked up at him, blinking in surprise. She smiled, her chin quivering slightly. "Hello, good sir...would you pray for me? And my parents too?"
Gavroche stared down at her in shock. Pray for her? He didn't even know her! She was an aristo! She was scum! But then...she was going to die. She wasn't any older than him, and she was going to die. How could she be so calm? He nodded to her, slowly.
"Thank you. May God be with you." The guard cracked his whip and the cart jerked forward. Gavroche kept eye contact with the girl, with Aledie, until the cart was out of sight.
He looked down at the boxes he was kneeling on. Coffins. He hadn't noticed that. They were coffins. The one...the one directly underneath him...was stained crimson. Aledie and her family. They would soon be in coffins just as these. Would he be crawling around on them next week? Tomorrow?
In the distance, he heard the crowd cheer. Once. Twice.
Three times.
"Long live the republic,"he whispered.
Please don't kill me. I've never read the Les Miserables book (although I intend to), and this fic may be a little weird. I'm a huge Gavroche fan, is the only reason that this is half Les Mis half Scarlet Pimpernel. Because I love Gavroche, and have since I was seven years old. I am screwing history allll up. I am a twisted moron. This may suck. You have been warned.
Because I find it difficult to portray children as...well, children..(I make them too deep or whatever) I've decided that Gavroche is a teenager. So there.
Happy Leap Year!
Prologue
"Long live the republic!" the crowds shouted as Madame Guillotine claimed her newest victim--the Countess de Tourney. Gavroche grinned. This was what he lived for. This was his element, the bloody streets of France. The revolution was at hand. Long live the republic!
Dashing through the streets, dodging cuffs and blows from annoyed citizens, he laughed. Nothing could stop him. He looked around at his surroundings as he slowed to a walk.
This was not where he had meant to come. In his excitement, he must have gotten turned around. The streets crawled with guards--he was at the prisons' entrance! No matter how he'd gotten here, this was an interesting place to be. Crawling onto some boxes shoved up against a wall, he scanned the street before him.
They were loading prisoners into the cart! Madame Guillotine was going to be satiated tonight. Gavroche grinned as the first prisoner was forced into the cart. An older man, richly dressed, though his clothes were stained with dirt and who knows what else now. A woman, presumably his wife, followed the man. She must have been pretty once, even beautiful, but her face sagged with worry and sorrow, casting tragic flaws among her features.
Gavroche licked his lips and waited for the next /i to be brought out. He wondered how they must feel, locked in that tower, knowing that the only escape for them was death. He wondered why they didn't fight the guards. He would have fought the guards, if they were taking him to death's door.
He caught a glimpse of a smaller figure, frogmarched by two guards into the cart. As he squinted, trying to see, the guards tied the person to the cart and went back into the prison. The figure turned around.
Why, it was a girl! She couldn't have been much older than him, if she was older at all. She was saying something to the woman tied at her left. Straining his ears, Gavroche listened.
"Mama, I'm frightened."
"I know, darling. I am too. We must pray to God, that he may receive our souls."
The girl began to cry. "I do not want Him to receive my soul, I want to keep it. I want to live."
The older man, tied on the other side of the cart, turned around as best he could. "Do not fear, my daughter, my Aledie. We will soon be safe. Remember Aledie, do not blame those that persecute you. Show them, be an example, of peace."
The girl--Aledie--nodded, stifling her sobs. "I love you Papa, Mama."
The cart started forward, drowning out the replies of her parents. Gavroche swallowed hard. This was not how he'd pictured the aristos. He'd always thought them rude, careless folks who didn't give a damn about people like himself.
The cart was coming toward him. Gavroche flattened himself against the wall and tried to be invisible.
The cart stopped next to his perch, and Aledie looked up at him, blinking in surprise. She smiled, her chin quivering slightly. "Hello, good sir...would you pray for me? And my parents too?"
Gavroche stared down at her in shock. Pray for her? He didn't even know her! She was an aristo! She was scum! But then...she was going to die. She wasn't any older than him, and she was going to die. How could she be so calm? He nodded to her, slowly.
"Thank you. May God be with you." The guard cracked his whip and the cart jerked forward. Gavroche kept eye contact with the girl, with Aledie, until the cart was out of sight.
He looked down at the boxes he was kneeling on. Coffins. He hadn't noticed that. They were coffins. The one...the one directly underneath him...was stained crimson. Aledie and her family. They would soon be in coffins just as these. Would he be crawling around on them next week? Tomorrow?
In the distance, he heard the crowd cheer. Once. Twice.
Three times.
"Long live the republic,"he whispered.