A/N- This is the last chapter! Wow, what a shame. And it has such a crappy ending! Must stick to the show, I suppose. Ah well, look for Into the Streets, a fic of the same genre by me.

Time passed.

Perhaps a month later, Eponine was out on an errand from her father. As she passed through an alley, she tripped over a drunkard in her path. The sordid girl got to her feet and turned to curse at the man, only to find that she knew him.

"My lady!" he gasped.

She could not help but smile. "Grantaire?"

"Yes, Lady Patria! How are you?"

"I'm well, Grantaire. Yourself?"

"I get along."

"And Sir Enjolras? How is he?"

A shadow passed across Grantaire's face. "He is not well."

"But why?" demanded Eponine. "What happened?"

"He is ill, my lady. We fear the worst."

"Where is he? Can you take me to him?"

Grantaire sighed. "He would not know you, my lady. He has changed."

"What do you mean, changed?" Eponine asked.

"The knight-errantry, quests... even his dream... He has forgotten them all. Everything his other friends term 'insanity.'"

"He's... he's sane?"

"I'm afraid so. And ill as well."

"Please, Grantaire, take me to him!"

The former squire slowly stood. "Very well, follow me. But do not say that I haven't warned you."

Several young men were grouped in the foyer, and Eponine recognized the mysterious knights who had come to her home with Enjolras's quest. The dark-haired man and a young lady Eponine assumed to be his wife stood in the doorway.

"So you're back, are you?" one of the men asked Grantaire. "The doctor is in there even now, and he doesn't want you to bring any of your ridiculous talk to poor Enjolras."

"I haven't brought my ridiculous talk," said Grantaire. "I've brought a friend to see him."

The thin doctor emerged from the inner room, shaking his head gravely. "No improvement," he said to the dark-haired man. "It's as if he needs a medicine I cannot give him."

"Oh, Marius!" the girl said. "All this because we wanted him to come to our wedding!"

"Hush, my dear," Marius sighed. "We can do nothing for him now."

Grantaire approached the doctor with Eponine in tow. "Your reverence," he said mildly, "Could I talk to him?"

The doctor sighed. "He won't hear you."

"Then I shan't say much."

The doctor stepped aside and the squire and lady entered their lord's chamber.

Pierre Enjolras lay on a bed by the window, and he gazed silently at the sky.

Grantaire cleared his throat. "Enjolras?"

"What now, winecask?" he asked irritably.

"I have... I have a visitor here to see you."

Enjolras did not move. "Very well."

"My lord?" Eponine ventured.

He turned his head. "Why do you say 'my lord,' girl? I am not a lord."

"But you are! You are my lord, Sir Enjolras de Paris, Knight of the Marbled Countenance!"

"Knight of the Marbled Countenance?"

"Yes!"

"And you," Enjolras asked, "Who are you, unfortunate child?"

"I am Eponine!"

He shook his head. "I know no one by this name."

"You once called me Patria..."

Enjolras's eyes seemed to brighten, and he slowly repeated the word. "Patria."

Eponine knelt at his side. "Patria," she said again. "Once you found a girl and called her Patria..."

"A name which angels seem to whisper," murmured Enjolras.

Grantaire stepped forward. "My lord!"

"Your lord?"

"Yes," Eponine said. "You, my lord, are Sir Enjolras! A true servant of the greater good! A dreamer of the impossible dream! A righter the unrightable wrong! A fighter of the unfightable foe! A bearer of the unbearable sorrow! You run-"

"Where the brave dare not go!" Enjolras cried, sitting upright.

"My lord!" Eponine and Grantaire gasped.

"But what is this, my lady?" said Enjolras. "On your knees... to me? This is not seemly!" He pulled her to her feet, then climbed out of the bed.

Enjolras stood in his dressing gown beside the drunkard and the girl. "But what are we doing here? Trusty squire?"

"Here, your grace!" Grantaire screeched.

"What of the foes we have yet to vanquish? What am I doing here? Where is my sword?" And, upon spying his weapon by the fireplace, Enjolras began to charge toward it.

"My lord, you are not well!" shouted Eponine, but it was too late.

Enjolras clutched at his chest, stumbled, and fell. Grantaire and Eponine rushed to his side, turning him over.

The squire looked up at Eponine, his eyes wide. "He is dead," he whispered. "My master is dead."

Eponine gazed at the knight's face for a moment, then raised her eyes to the ceiling. "A man died, yes. A brave young man. But Sir Enjolras de Paris is not dead." She got to her feet and left the room. Grantaire hurried after her, catching up on the street outside.

"Mademoiselle Eponine!" he panted. "Where are you going?"

She slowly turned to him.

"Eponine?"

She shook her head. "My name... is Patria," she said solemnly.

And she was gone.