Chapter Thirteen - The Baroness Pontmercy

IvyGreen13: Thank you so much!
Smiles1998: Perhaps :)
HermsP: That's why I love to write her so much! I think it will be easier if they have each other to lean on :)
SandyH-B: Thank you loads! I'm glad it makes sense; I wasn't sure it would when I was writing it because it did it in snippets and kind of linked it together. It's good that it worked.
DramaRose13: I've never watched the anime (though I will, someday, once I decide to get off my arse and do it), but there are many other portrayals of Azelma which show her to be more submissive and fickle. I initially wanted her to be like that, but then I decided that is a trait that simply does not occur in the other Thenardiers, and that badass Azelma would actually work for the plot much better than helpless Azelma. And I think there's a lot more to Jehan than meets the eye... in the book, it mentions that when the Amis made fun of him for bringing flowers to a meeting he stood up for himself and said some brusque words that proved him to be perfectly capable of being a strong individual. His death scene in the book also showed his bravery when they heard him shout "Vive la République" before his execution. Sorry for the long reply... thanks for the review!

Disclaimer: All character and novel rights belong to Victor Hugo. Song lyrics belong to the creators of Les Misérables, the musical. I own nothing except for my own imagination.


"I think Marius is alive," Enjolras announced to his traveling companions of three days now.

"You mean that lovesick son of a bitch?" Grantaire took a swig of wine and grinned sloppily.

"You decide to mention this now?" Éponine snarled, slamming her cup down.

"I wanted to make sure. I saw his grandfather Monsieur Gillenormand yesterday, and he had Fauchelevent in his coach, so I thought it must mean Marius is alive."

"We could have gone to him for help! We wouldn't be halfway across France on a broken knee and sprained ankle!" Éponine said, exasperated.

"If he wasn't alive we'd have been asking for Gillenormand's help while he was in a foul, foul mood- and if you've heard Marius' description of that man you'd know that would not be a smart decision." Grantaire visibly shuddered at the idea.

Éponine sighed heavily and massaged the bridge of her nose. "How is he even alive? I saw him get shot."

"You got shot, too, almost right afterwards." Enjolras frowned at the memory, but continued. "I saw him get carried off by Monsieur Fauchelevent, and last I saw them both, they were headed to the sewers."

Realisation hit Éponine at the last part. "That's why you didn't take us to the sewers."

"I was worried that the guards would still be chasing us when we went in. If they'd still been there not only would we have been caught, they would, too," Enjolras explained, perfectly composed as he sipped at his coffee.

"Ah. Good thinking," Grantaire praised, lifting his cup in Enjolras' direction.

"Alright, fine, I forgive you," Éponine grumbled.

"You couldn't help it. You're obsessed with each other," Grantaire said frankly.

The other two blushed and looked away from each other. "I guess you're right," she said into her wine with a small smile. She saw Enjolras grin to himself out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help but break into a grin of her own.


"When can we tell them?" He turned to her, brown eyes pleading. "I want to see them."

"Not yet," she replied, slurping her juice. "Trust me, I miss them just as much as you do."

"Why not?" he gesticulated and pointed at the enormous clock tower visible outside the restaurant they were sitting at. "We've been in England for a month! Surely you know if we're safe or not."

"When I said out of the water," she sighed, putting her cup down and looking at him intently, "I meant France would have forgotten you ever existed."

He nearly dropped his fork. "What? I thought you just wanted us to be out of their hunting range!"

"We can't go back now. We're not here for a holiday, 'Han. We'll be here for the rest of our lives."

He heaved a great sigh, a thousand words he'd like to spill balancing on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed them and met her green eyes with a tremulous smile. "Then I'm glad you're here with me."

"Without me you'd be dead in a ditch somewhere."

"That I would," he chuckled. "But without me, you wouldn't have a translator."

"I would have gotten around fine without English," she argued. "I'd have picked it up eventually."

"In several years' time, you mean," he smiled. "Admit it. You need me as much as I need you."

She held his gaze defiantly for a second before dropping her eyes to her lap with a shy smile. "Maybe I do."


"You knock. You're the one he owes," Grantaire urged, nudging her with his good shoulder.

"I don't know if he'll remember me," Éponine replied doubtfully. "He was old then and even more ancient now."

"He owes you his life. You don't forget that sort of thing," Grantaire pressed.

"Fine." She knocked on the door in three sharp raps.

"There's nobody there," Grantaire said after ten seconds had passed.

"Knock again," Enjolras said.

Éponine reached out to do so when the door swung open, revealing a woman around their age, with light brown tresses. Her dark green eyes were the same colour as the dress she'd given her a week ago, back when the Amis were still alive and well.

"Éponine?" The woman blinked owlishly at the three in disbelief.

"Musichetta?" Éponine asked in the same tone of voice.

"What are you doing here? How do you know where I live? You look awful! You three are wanted across the country, you know, if you're caught it's the chain gang-"

"We know," Enjolras interrupted severely, and Musichetta was silenced immediately. It appeared he still had that effect on people.

"We're actually here for Doctor Mestienne," Éponine said. "Unless this is the wrong address."

"It's the right address. He's my grandfather." Musichetta said, who was still in shock.

"What a coincidence. Well, could we see him? You can probably tell we could really use his medical degree right now." Éponine gestured to their disheveled state of blood and broken bones.

"Yes. Yes, of course- how did you even get this far?" Musichetta ushered them in, closing the door behind her.

"Three and half days and a lot of determination," Grantaire answered, daring to plant a kiss on the young woman's cheek. She slapped him and opened another door for them in an easily practiced motion. Her training at the Musain still hadn't worn off.

"Grandpapa, there's people that want to see you," Musichetta said.

An old man in his mid seventies sat alone in a small dining room, sipping at a cup of tea. He turned slowly and his eyes immediately fell on Enjolras. Éponine instinctively stood in front of him, as if to protect him.

"My name is Éponine Jondrette, and you'll remember the debt you owe me," she said quickly. "If you swear that neither you nor your family will tell a soul about seeing or even knowing us you can consider that debt erased."

The man gazed thoughtfully at Éponine. "Done," he said, turning around completely. "What do you want from me?"

"We've suffered many injuries, sir," Enjolras said respectfully, coming forward. "We're here to ask for you skill in medicine and your aid in healing us."

"I will not give you to the police, but why should I consent to treat criminals?" Mestienne said coldly, and Éponine saw Enjolras swell with righteous anger.

"We are not-" he began heatedly, but Musichetta cut in hurriedly.

"Please, Grandpapa, they have gone through so much for the good of France. They've fought for us," the granddaughter pleaded.

"You do not know what is good for France," the old man said. "You are too young, so young that you cannot possibly know."

"We may be young, but we are not blind! It is clear that France is suffering, and it is clear that something must be done about it. If it is martyrdom, so be it," Enjolras said, eyes alight with a fire that Éponine hadn't seen since the barricade had fallen. It lifted her spirits.

"If you think voicing those opinions will heal your wounds, you are sorely mistaken," Mestienne told them, beginning to turn back around.

"Grandpapa!" Musichetta cried at the same time Enjolras took another step forward.

"I have money," he said reaching into his coat with dirt-streaked fingers. He produced a five-hundred-franc banknote. "Perhaps this will persuade you."

Éponine had known he was rich, but her eyes were still glued to the piece of paper. She'd never seen so much money at a time in her life. Judging by the look on Musichetta and Mestienne's faces, neither had they. Grantaire just raised an eyebrow and took a swig from his bottle.

The old man took it slowly- everything he did, he did it slowly. "I am not sure if I can save everything," he said at last. He looked at Grantaire. "That untreated knee, for example, will most likely give you a limp for the rest of your life." The drunk shrugged again, and sat himself down.

Éponine and Enjolras exchanged glances before sitting down as well.

"I will, however, try. You must first wash yourselves; I can't do anything with all that blood and soil. Musichetta, show them the bath."

The bath was a tiny room just down the hall consisting of a bathtub and a large bucket of water. Éponine hadn't seen a bath since the inn. Enjolras and Grantaire weren't nearly as impressed as she was but were obviously grateful to be clean.

Musichetta excused herself, but paused at the door before whirling back around, a grief-stricken expression on her face. "Please, just tell me one thing."

Éponine gave her a curious look. "Of course," said Enjolras.

"Joly and Bossuet?"

The mention of the two students nearly brought tears to Éponine's eyes again. Enjolras and Grantaire both looked to her to deliver the news with sorrowful eyes. She managed to keep her voice steady, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry."

Musichetta wailed in despair and collapsed into the doorframe, sobbing.


"When are you going to admit that you love me?" He stood with his back to her, facing the window.

"I'm not like your other women," Azelma snapped. "I'm not about to fall into your arms and forget about everything else."

He whipped around to face her, hazel eyes wild. "That's because you're better than every other woman I know! Zelma, I don't know anybody else like you."

"I'm touched," Azelma said sarcastically. "Good try."

"Goddamn it, how many times do I have to say it? I'm in love with you."

"I know you are." She inspected her fingernails.

"And I know you're in love with me."

"Then why do you need me to say it?"

"Because you need to know, too."

Azelma lifted her chin with a challenging glint in her eye. "Who says I don't?"

He was shocked still.

"You're right. So why do you need me to say it, when you know it already?"

"Azelma..." He was across the room in a second, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. "Please."

"Fine. I'm in love with you. Alright? I'm so in love with you I saved your sorry ass and hauled it halfway across Europe with me. Happy?"

"More than you could imagine," said Jehan, and suddenly he was kissing her, and it felt like coming home.


"I thought you were dead," Marius said, staring at them, slack-jawed.

"Likewise, my friend," Grantaire smirked, and then held out a bottle. "Want some?"

Marius gaped at the three of them, standing at the front of his house.

"Darling? Who is that?" A voice came from further within the building. A blonde woman long, flowing hair and sparkling bright blue eyes came flouncing out of the house in a white and lilac dress.

When she saw them she stopped moving, and her eyes enlarged.

"Meet Cosette, my wife, the Baroness Pontmercy." Marius coughed awkwardly.

There was an uncomfortable pause, and then Grantaire bowed low. "Grantaire, known as R. Infamous drunk, disbeliever, and wanted revolutionary with a permanent limp carrying his dead friend's old cane, at your service." He tapped Joly's cane to his nose in an imitation of the medical student.

Éponine smiled slightly. "Your childhood bully and daughter of the people that abused you, the girl who dressed up as a boy to deliver you letters and then finally to fight in the June Rebellion, Éponine Thenardier."

"Enjolras. Leader of the revolution in which everybody but the people standing before you died."

"... It's nice to see you. Please come in for some tea," said Cosette faintly.

Éponine and Enjolras exchanged a smile.


"They couldn't find Azelma," Enjolras told them.

Éponine sank into a seat. "I can't believe it. First Gavroche, then..."

Enjolras kissed her gently. "I'm sorry."

"That really dampens the mood,' Grantaire groused. "I was planning on bringing out the good wine tonight."

"Do it anyway, it might make me feel better," Éponine replied, voice muffled by Enjolras' shirt.

"How did she just disappear? You told her to stay at the Musain, right?" Enjolras seemed seriously confused as to how Azelma might have gone missing.

Éponine knew better. "She's a Thenardier, and that mean she doesn't follow instructions. I told you she was better at being stealthy than I was. The Musain would have been easy to escape. I just wish I knew where she went."

"You're sure she would be fine on her own? When we left she wasn't even eighteen."

"Without mother and father breathing down her neck, Zelma's a force to be reckoned with. If she wants to disappear, you won't find her. I can guarantee it."


She knocked on the door hesitantly, fiddling with the hem of her dress. When it opened, Cosette's face brightened at the sight of her.

"Éponine! I thought you'd be downstairs with the boys." The two of them glanced at the staircase, down which the laughter of Grantaire and Marius and the scolding of Enjolras could be heard.

"I wanted to talk to you," Éponine said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Cosette noticed this instantly. "Is everything okay?" she asked, concern on her sweet face as she let Éponine into her room.

"Oh, it's fine. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry." Éponine couldn't meet her eyes. It would remind her too much of the exhausted, sad face of the young Cosette back in Montfermeil.

"For what- oh!" Cosette seemed to finally get what she was talking about, and her eyes softened, taking Éponine by the elbow and leading her onto her bed where they sat. "I never blamed you for that, Éponine. You were just a child, easily influenced by your horrible parents."

"I still did the things I did, and I can't take them back," Éponine replied forcefully, shame lacing the words. "I can't take them back, no matter how much I want to."

"You don't have to," Cosette said simply, lifting her face so that she could see her eyes. "What's past is past. We can't change that. I'd like to make my papa come back alive, and I'd like to make the rebellion successful, but I can't do that. You bullied me in Montfermeil, and I admit I was incredibly jealous of you, but that's all over. Now we're both alive, and well, and we can look past that now. Alright?"

Éponine watched her earnest face and soft blue eyes and let out a bark of laughter. "I didn't know you could be so smart," she said.

Cosette blushed. "Don't be silly," she said. "I was just saying the truth."

Éponine grinned. "Could we try that? Looking past everything?"

"Are you asking me to be your friend?" Cosette asked, amused.

"So what if I am?" Éponine said, defensively.

The blonde let out a trill of laughter and wrapped Éponine in a hug. "I'd love to be your friend."


AN: Friendship!