A/N: I have no idea what possessed me to think that I could combine this chapter with the one before. I couldn't. If anything that would have been way past my usual chapter lengths, and in addition, it probably would not have fit anyway, with the tone of the chapter and all...

So all the better I uploaded the chapter before as it was, so I had more time to draw this one out.

As promised, there'll be some more E/E interaction in here ;-) - I hope you like it. In addition, I fear the two original characters that are featured in this chapter, Michel Lamarin and Hélène de Cambout, are here to stay. Both of them will have roles to play, so I hope they are not too overbearing.

A few notes, as a matter of fact:

Historic facts on the newspaper "Le globe" (from wikipedia) : Le globe was a french newspaper published in Paris by the Bureau du Globe between 1824 and 1832 with the goal of publishing romantic works. After 1828 the paper became political and liberal in tone. It was bought by the Saint-Simonists in 1830, and was the official voice of the movement under the July Monarchy. Le Globe was ultimately banned, following the denounciation of Saint-Simonianism as an anti-establishment "sect".

That is history. The rest is my fiction, warped to fit these facts because it makes some kind of sense...

This chapter's title is an homage to "a clash of kings" of the "a song of fire and ice"-series, where a young royal offspring is massing the young and glorious to win a throne. Summer is ending, and the observer of their mustering cannot help thinking, that these boys, the boys of summer, never saw winter, never saw hard times, and look at the world with young and carefree eyes.

In my own, weird head, this fits very well with "Les Amis". We'll see if we get them adapted to the cold, before the revolution starts...

Thanks to all readers and reviewers, and those who put me on their alert and favourites list. I am continuously happy for feedback and comments, so I would be very happy, if after reading this, you'd leave me a comment on how you like it.

Thanks also to judybear236 for correcting!

And now, without further ado:

Chapter 11: Girl of shadows, boys of summer

"It changed the future .. and it changed us. It taught us that we have to create the future .. or others will do it for us. It showed us that we have to care for one another, because if we don't, who will? And that true strength sometimes comes from the most unlikely places. Mostly, though, I think it gave us hope .. that there can always be new beginnings .. even for people like us."

"Hélène…"

Combeferre's painful whisper was lost in the noise of a key being turned in the lock, as Enjolras closed the door to the apartment, but the almost vanished sound elicited a slight, flinching movement from the woman standing half behind her, and that got Eponine's attention.

Still slightly out of breath from the exertions of the last minutes, she turned around to get another good look at the woman that she had dragged across half Paris, on an impulse that she still had a hard . ?docid=32200040 explaining to herself.

She was a small woman, half a head shorter than Eponine, a slightly plump figure with soft, tender curves. Her face, on the other hand, was that of a little bird, all pointy angles and large, quick, flashing eyes, now dulled to a dark brown in the semi-darkness of the room, giving a strange contrast to her soft shilouette. Brown, long hair was taken together in a braid falling down deep into her back, but a few curls had escaped and stood around her face in disarray, smeared with dried blood.

Blood was also on her face, painting strange patterns around her left cheek and her nose, and on the previously pristine, white nightdress, that was carefully crafted, of light, beautiful lace. It spoke of a wealth that Eponine had not even known when she was still the cherished child of two well-off innkeepers.

She was panting, from the exertion of the minutes past, her eyes still wild and scared, but she was silent, taking deep breaths as if to calm herself.

"In the name of all, that's good, true and holy, what happened?"

Combeferre, all drowsiness chased from his eyes, still disheveled, but wide awake, shot towards the two. He gave a quick, appreciating glance at Eponine, finding her essentially unchanged from few hours before, except for the sling, that had been dispatched of, and turned back to the other arrival, stopping shortly before her, as if not daring to step any closer, frozen in mid-movement.

"M… Madame de Cambout?" he asked, his voice not quite as sure as it had been, when Eponine had last met him. "Are… you hurt?"

The woman flinched, as if awaking from a dream, and took to looking at her hands, watched the lines of blood there, carefully flexing her fingers.

"I…", she said, dazed, "I don't know." She looked down, at the blood on her dress, frowning, and then shaking her head, softly only, but not without determination. "No", she corrected herself. "No, I don't think so."

"Come", he said, taking her arm gently. "Sit down."

Combeferre maneuvered her to the couch, carefully, putting a hand on her shoulder and another one on her arm, softly as if she might break at the slightest touch. His keen eyes were checking her dress for fresh blood, as he urged her to sit, but all of it seemed to be dry and turned a rusty brown already.

"You seem to have the uncanny ability to find yourself in the heat of things at the most interesting moments, Mademoiselle."

Enjolras' voice was calm compared to that of his friend. Eponine turned towards him, finding him with his face unreadable, as he stood next to her, arms folded, his golden curls darker than usual in the dim light.

She was not sure how to respond to that. She was not even sure, if it was some sort of address at her, or just a remark, spoken into the void that was the room, and that was there on its own accord, regardless of whether there was a listener or not.

However, the decision was taken from her by another voice, coming from the door leading further into the apartment. She turned to the deep inhale, followed by words, and saw the boy that she had seen in the Jardin du Luxembourg earlier that day, accompanying Marius and the others.

"What happened here?!" he asked, and while Combeferre had been all concern, Eponine's charge seemed to be mostly shocked and confused, and Enjolras showed hardly any emotion at all, on the young man's face and in his voice, fear was evident and plain for the world to see.

"That", Enjolras nodded, "is indeed the question of the hour, Lamarin."

A few minutes later, all the current inhabitants of the apartment had assembled around the couch and the corresponding armchairs. Since there were five of them now, Enjolras was standing at the window again to leave the armchairs to Eponine and Lamarin, while Combeferre and Hélène de Cambout – since this was apparently the name of the woman - occupied the couch, the blankets, that had served as a provisory bedding being thrown over the back rest, forgotten.

Hélène was methodically washing hands and face with a bowl of water, and a soft cloth, that Combeferre had brought from the small stove, as soon as she had been able to convince him, that she was on the whole unharmed and not in immediate need of medical attention. She had accepted it gratefully, to tidy up at least as far as possible given the fact that the apartment harbored no possibility for her to change into cleaner, less bloodstained clothes.

For the first time since the events in Rue d'Olivel, Eponine had time to ponder her situation. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, she had acted in the way that, given her usual standards, was certainly not on the clever side.

Her quick reaction had spared her a brush-in with the police – a grace that probably did not extend to the rest of her accomplices – and she certainly was not sad, that Hélène de Cambout had not fallen prey to the attacker. But sitting again in the middle of the revolutionary friends of Marius, who by her own standards were a group that one better steered clear of, was not how she had intended the evening to end.

She pushed away the thought, that if she had planned to avoid them for good, she had surely done a poor job of it. There certainly would have been other ways to deal with the situation.

Yet, the deed was done, and there was another unspoken credo of Eponine's, that came all too handy in this situation.

Don't look back. Ever.

So she turned her attention back to the others present, who sat around the table in almost companionable silence.

Hélène began to speak, unexpectedly, as Eponine still wondered how the students would broach the subject of the events of this night – and whether any account was expected from her as well. Which would be unpleasant, because she had very little idea how she might explain herself.

"A man –a dwarf, for lack of a better word for it - has broken into our house this night", she began. Her voice was almost calm, almost composed, hardly betraying the turmoil that could be seen only by her trembling hands that methodically cleaned the traces of blood from one another. "He was intent on murder."

She did not look at them, but gazed at her hands, as she continued.

"I woke up when Alexandre was already dead. The dwarf had cut his throat and…", her voice hitched, and she raised her hand over mouth and nose, her breath hitching for just a tiny instant as she blinked hectically, fighting for composure with all, that was in her.

A movement, almost hidden, drew Eponine's attention towards Combeferre, who was flexing the fingers of his right hand as if uncertain, but doing nothing in the end. Eponine frowned slightly at the gesture, but Hélène continued, and so did the splashing and squishing of water as she resumed the cleaning.

"He was intent on killing me as well."

Eponine realized that bringing her hand to her face had left watery, pale red fingerprints around Hélène's mouth and nose.

"If Mademoiselle would not have appeared out of nowhere, he probably would have."

She raised her head to look at Eponine, and the gamine recognized the dead look in her eyes, shock and pain, ugly sisters, but layered with a strange sort of composed determination.

"Yes", Enjolras prompted from the window. "Mademoiselle seems to make a habit of that kind of thing, lately." He sounded almost cross, and Eponine turned around to see if he was, but his face was carefully neutral, as he returned her gaze, only the slightest of frowns appearing on his forehead. "At least this time she had the sense to escape unscathed."

He broke the gaze abruptly – and Eponine realized once more, only in its absence, the piercing quality that his regard was able to take – and turned towards Hélène.

"I am profoundly sorry for your loss, Madame", he began. "Especially since I fear we have to claim some part in it. I would not have thought that they would go as far as target you."

"If we'd known…", Combeferre added, but he never got to finish, because Hélène interrupted.

"Don't", she said, and the determination of her eyes showed in her voice, calming him instantly. "Don't." And then softer. "Don't make me regret it. We did what we did out of conviction. What happened does not make it wrong."

Silence settled between them, her words still hanging in the air. Finally, it was the boy that broke it.

"De Cambout…?" he asked. "Is that not…"

"Yes." Enjolras nodded. "Madame de Cambout and her hus… her late husband among other things own a significant number of print presses here in Paris. It is where most of our pamphlets have been printed. The Cambouts' support in this area has been invaluable."

"And Monsieur de Cambout presides over the consortium, that publishes Le Globe", Combeferre continued. "The newspaper most sympathetic to our cause", he added towards Eponine, and presumably for her benefit, and Eponine felt slightly offended.

"I know that", she bit back. Of course, she was not exactly a daily reader of the paper, but when she came across one, she had been known to look into it. Marius kept a copy, from time to time, and she had read some articles in it, to be able to show him, that she understood.

However, how much like the luck of her father to target exactly that house exactly that night.

"Indeed", Enjolras interjected, throwing her a glance that was almost surprised. He took to pacing, slowly, across the room, reminding her once more of a tiger caged, unable to be truly confined, restless in its captivity. "Know that this is not the first attack that has happened today. Several revolutionary groups have been targeted, in different settings, by different people; and with varying success. We have escaped, for the time being, but some members of the Barriere du Maine group and in Saint Antoine have been killed. We know the Cougourde was attacked as well…", he nodded in deference to Marc Lamarin, "but it is unclear, if, and how many victims there have been. The murder of your husband seems to be the latest deed in this row of attacks on our numbers." He raised his head, eyes blazing. "It is time we took action against this."

"There was police in our house."

While Enjolras had spoken, Hélène hat managed to clean her face, looking now slightly less wild as she raised her head to look at him. The comment had come out of nowhere. And Eponine could not hold back the question.

"Why did you want to run from them, anyway?" she asked. Hélène turned towards her, frowning slightly.

"In short", she answered, with surprising earnestness and honesty, "because I was afraid. I am no fool; I can imagine why someone would target Alexandre and me. Would you have trusted the police, if you were in my position?"

Eponine could not help snorting in disgust, and Hélène, misunderstanding her general disgust towards the police for sympathy with her situation, nodded.

"Exactly. In addition", she continued, "unless I am very much mistaken, I have recognized in you a friend of Marius Pontmercy." There was the sad hint of a smile around her lips, gone in the twinkle of an eye. "It was less of a gamble than what one might think."

"Oh." Eponine had not considered that. "I see." She had no idea, where the woman might have seen her, but then, she had been at Marius' side fairly often.

There was a certain irony in being the trustworthy one, as opposed to the police.

In another world, it would have been amusing.

Sometime later, silence had settled again in the small flat, that now, housing five people started to feel cramped indeed.

Enjolras and Combeferre had convinced Hélène to sleep in the bed in the other room – despite her protestations that her soiled clothing would ruin the bed – and Combeferre had taken an armchair in view of the door kept open, just in case. Both were already sleeping soundly, as well as Lamarin, who had taken the other armchair and curled up, almost like a boy, snoring softly.

Only Eponine, placed on the couch, was wide awake.

Not that her body was not tired – good lord, it was tired, and the couch was the most comfortable bedding she had had in a while – but thoughts and images of the strange day past would not let her sleep. What had started out as an ordinary day had seen her hurt, and threatened, her family presumably caught by the police and her, now lying in the flat of a rich bourgeois, that felt more like a castle under siege than anything else.

And he was the watchman on the tower.

Enjolras stood at the window, gazing out into the street, as he had done before they arrived, a pistol attached to his belt. He was motionless, lost in his own thoughts, his face bathed in the moonlight coming from the outside, throwing the clear lines of his face in sharp contrast. He was a comely man, but the eerie light made him look slightly haggard, and in a strange way different to the man she had seen and known before.

Somehow, the night did not suit him. He was a man of day, of summer and glory.

The only outward sign of his unrest was the movement of his fingers, tapping silently against the pistol at his belt, betraying, that the studied calm was indeed nothing more than this – a study, probably for the benefit of those sleeping.

And yet, he stared at the moon as if by sheer determination alone, he could will dawn to come closer.

Moments ticked by unnoticed.

After a while, without warning, he turned around abruptly, and Eponine, too surprised to react, did not manage to feign sleep quickly enough.

Realizing he was being watched, Enjolras raised a brow.

"Should you not be sleeping, Mademoiselle?" he asked, softly, as to not awaken his comrades, who, at least, had the benefit of rest.

Eponine pondered the situation for a moment, and then decided that if she could not sleep, she might as well get up. Carefully, as to not hurt her shoulder too much, she got to her feet and stepped over to the man at the window.

"Will you stop calling me that?"

He raised both brows.

"What?"

"Mademoiselle", she snapped.

"Why?"

Eponine shook her head vigorously.

"Because I'm not."

He took a deep breath and directed his gaze back towards the street, face impassive, voice neutral.

"That is a matter of perspective, I assume." He seemed to ponder this for a while, before continuing. "It is an address of honor, in the first order. It is a question of politeness, and of respect. There may be those, who associate it with a certain cast, or a place in the society. I am not one of them. I associate it with a person. And hence, you merit the address."

She recognized the weaving of words, the intrinsic elegance to his speech that he also used in public, but while standing in front of a crowd, he was practically radiating determination and charisma, now there was only a certain neutral calm. As if he didn't think it necessary.

Not worth the effort.

Somehow, this thought put her on edge.

And still, what he had said was a strange perspective, like a view through the gallery into another world. She would scorn his generosity, his mercy, at giving her a polite address like a bone to a dog, but maybe it was the soberness with which he had spoken, that convinced her that he actually meant what he said. And still…

"You don't know me."

That earned her a quick look, before he turned back to the motionless scenery below.

"You saved my life and that of my friends", he retorted. "That is enough to know."

She did not know how to contradict that.

It was him, who broke the silence in the end.

"Why this evening?"

He was watching her again, voice still quiet as to wake no one, but this time, he did make an effort, and Eponine felt slightly uneasy under the scrutiny of the clear, strong blue eyes. Not to mention that she did not know what he was talking about.

"Why what?" she therefore asked

He fully turned to face her, folding his arms before his chest, leaning against the windowsill.

"This morning I understand", he explained. "Pontmercy is…", the slightest of hesitations that would have her flare up in anger, but he pressed on, "your friend. Hence your actions this morning. But why did you help Madame de Cambout?"

From all that she had come to know of him, she should have expected him to plunge directly to the heart of the matter.

She had not and thus felt off-foot at the answer. Her subconscious supplied alternatives – philanthropy, fear of her own, coincidence – but what came out in the end was something completely different.

"Don't want them to win."

There was a truthful ring to these words that actually surprised her. She was not sure what had made her think that the attacker on the young woman and her husband had belonged to the same group that had followed them in the market this morning. Maybe it had been the randomness of the attack. Or the determination, to go straight for the bedroom, no detours, intent on murder, not on robbery.

Or just intuition.

Another question unclear was what it was, that made her scorn them enough to feel intend on opposition.

Maybe it was the fear for Marius.

Whatever the reason for her comment, there was a twitching of lips from Enjolras at her response, and his eyes lit up, for just a moment, in a memory of the charisma she knew he was capable of.

"They won't", he said, with firm conviction.

And still, somehow the comment caught her unawares.

She was not sure, what she had thought about Marius and his friends, about all the speeches, and leaflets, and dreams of glory and uprising, but it was here, in this semi-darkness, looking at the face of the leader of them all, that she realized, that at least he was deadly serious about it.

She had believed Marius, with his bright eyes full of dreams and earnestness, but she would have believed him anything. To see that the enthusiasm, that she saw in his eyes was not his own alone, but could be found in the face of his friends as well was… unexpected.

And she did not really know how to deal with it.

If life had taught her one thing, then it was that things had a tendency to take a turn for the worse. She had fallen hard, so brutally hard, from the grace that was her early childhood, and the concept of hopes or – let alone – dreams were alien to her.

Which was not exactly true. She had hoped and dreamt for Marius – but like all her wishes, this had turned to a nightmare soon enough.

It was disquieting to see the conviction, that hope and faith was worth the struggle, in the eyes of the earnest, serious man before her.

"You really do believe that."

The words were out, before she had the power to stop them, but if he was offended, he did not show it.

"What about you?" he asked.

She did not know how to answer that. In truth, she should have been expecting that question, but again, his tendency to cut to the heart of the matter – as opposed to Marius, who preferred to dance around it, carefully and playfully; and as opposed to her parents and their associates, who avoided deeper conversations altogether – had caught her off-guard.

And yet, his face was not judgmental. Rather, she had the impression, that there was a curious note to the look that held her in her place effortlessly.

She dared honesty.

"I don't know."

He held her gaze for another moment, before he nodded and turned to half sit on the windowsill, his gaze wandering through the room that had gone from his refuge to a stronghold of sorts.

"So, Mademoiselle Eponine, what will you do when the sun rises? Will you retreat back to the shadows that you came from?"

The phrasing was brutal, even though the tone was not, and she would have almost flinched at the truth of it. That was, what she was. The girl of shadows. Nothing more. The whisper that followed Marius to do his every bidding.

But he continued, still soft, but now, there was a new quality to his voice, determination mingled with something almost elusive, that seemed fitting on a stage, but strange here, with only her to hear.

"Or will you take the chance to shine? To take your fate into your own hands, to be one of those, that will no longer endure? You have shown remarkable determination today, and you have done me, have done us a great service." He turned his gaze to look at her again, with surprising conviction. "I find it hard to believe that the shadows are where you belong."

Now, she seemed to be worth the effort, worth the conviction, that colored his every sentence. For a moment, Eponine was lost for words, both at the presumption on his part, and on the actual meaning behind the words, that, if possible were more brutal than what he said before.

She was Eponine, Eponine Jondrette, or Thénardier, and she was a creature of the underworld, like her father, her mother and those she mingled with.

She could not afford the fickle concept of hope.

"You know nothing about me", she repeated finally, almost hostile, and he shrugged, averting his gaze again in an infuriatingly calm manner.

"I know that you saved four lives today." He kept coming back to the same thing, like a dog worrying a bone. "And I find it hard to believe that you are satisfied with the lot that you are dealing with." He shrugged again. "But in this you are indeed right. It is a belief of mine – nothing more. So the choice is all yours, Mademoiselle."

He crossed his arms before his chest again, eyes pinned to the door.

"After what Madame de Cambout and you have told us, I assume that the police will have the attacker of Rue d'Olivel in their precious custody, as we speak. I have half a mind of trying to have a conversation with the man tomorrow."

He smiled a quick, grim smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Would you care to join me?"

Eponine frowned. That proposition of his was the spark to a powder keg. She was pretty certain, that not only the dwarf was in police custody, but her accomplices as well. On the other hand, in the company of someone like Enjolras, it would be much easier to get into the prison to check on their welfare – and out again, which was even more important. And yet…

"Is that clever?" she asked. "You're probably not popular with them, are you?"

He snorted softly.

"You may or may not know that like Marius, my chosen field of study is the law. To see its enforcement put to practice for educational purposes is… not unheard of."

She smiled despite herself.

"Crafty", she had to admit, and she thought, that she saw a quick flash of amused pride in his clear eyes. He turned back to her fully.

"So?"

She hesitated. She could count on her father and his associates having the good sense to keep quiet when she appeared in company of someone like Enjolras – as to not ruin whatever plan she might be harboring to get them out again – and maybe, just maybe, a small back corner of her mind supplied, there was some truth in his words.

He was a boy of summer, and Eponine could use a little sun.

If nothing else, she might be able to help her accomplices. She shrugged.

"Why not", she replied casually, and he nodded once, settling the matter.

"Very well."

He raised his head to the faint sound of a church bell coming from afar.

The four deep beats heralded the arrival of the morning.

Enjolras ran a hand through his blonde curls, and for a moment, Eponine thought she saw relief on his features.

"Four o'clock", he confirmed. "It is time to wake Lamarin and get a few hours' sleep ourselves. An undertaking such as ours tomorrow would preferably be taken with a clear head."

He was right in that, at least.

But when Eponine curled up on the chaiselongue again – of course he insisted to take Lamarin's place in the armchair, while leaving the sofa to her – she felt his gaze linger on her for a moment, curiously, before he drifted to sleep, finally, and dreams found her swiftly and mercilessly as well, as if there had been a matter pending, that now was resolved.