Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect or variation of Les Miserables. That genius belongs to Victor Hugo and all of those who followed.
Title: Reprieve
Summary: Sometimes life gives us a second chance, but are we too weak to take advantage of this gift? Javert had thought he would die; he had hoped he would die. However, it seemed that life had not finished with him just yet. How can he hope to make a new start with all that had transpired? Life has an answer to that, as well.
Author's Note: To clear things up, first of all, this story is not about Javert and Madame Loriel hooking up. That is not going to happen, so if that was what you were expecting, I apologize. She is merely a nice lady helping him back onto his feet. Also, I want to give a shout out to my friend for coming up with pretty much the entire character of Madame Loriel and assisting in looking over my writing. I forgot to add that the translation of the tavern name is supposed to be "The Little Swallow," but I am not at all good at French, so it could very much be wrong. I apologize in advance for the poor French, but I will attempt to always put translations at the bottom.
Chapter 2
- A Change Begins
Javert recoiled quite automatically from the image reflected back in the bit of glass. It was certainly not an image he recognized. The pale blue eyes staring back seemed dull and tired. The dark circles beneath those eyes attested to that, as well. His hair, which had been dark and full in his youth, had become streaked and almost completely invaded by gray. A large beard had even sprouted upon his chin, almost entirely hiding the pale, sickly complexion beneath it. All of his locks were knotted and matted. His cheeks had sunken in and had not yet recovered with the constant hearty meals. He despised what he saw in that mirror. It disgusted him, for it reminded him of everything, all of those people he hated.
He dashed the piece of glass down, which cracked beneath his palm against the wooden surface of the small side table. He pretended not to notice the pain and gazed out of the window of his small, yet comfortable room. Well, it wasn't necessarily his, but might as well have been. He had remained its occupant since the first time he had staid the night, before he had been strong enough to even get up from the little cot. Though technically a guest room in the tavern, he was never expected to owe anything or vacate the premises.
Just below the window, the Seine flowed steadily away from the city. Its surface appeared placid and calm, very much unlike the turmoil just below. Javert knew from experience just how unpredictable that water could be. He shivered despite himself at the very thought of experiencing it again. Yet, he felt he could relate to that dangerous snaking river. He was constantly focused on maintaining his stolid demeanor, while his insides raged against his current predicament.
The return of his memories brought upon a harsh realization, as well. He recalled a world he used to live in until it had all come crashing down. And that had been due to just one man. He still could not believe it. One man had managed to destroy his entire view of the world in a single moment. He had always followed one single path in his life because he had had to in order to survive. He had decided when he had been but a child to wholly obey and even become an emissary of the law. Since, his world had been nothing but black and white.
Now there were grays of every shade. A new path had been forged, and he currently stood at a fork in the road with indecision on which route to take. Both were so completely different and offered such diverse things. One was all too familiar and the other was incredibly new. Newness was alarming and unfamiliar. However, he was never one to back down. He could still maintain his probity, his candor, his unrelenting faith along this new road, but the cost would be his old convictions. There was no possibility that those would ever be the same anyway. Not anymore.
Javert took a deep breath. This was it. This was what he had tried to escape before, when he had jumped from that bridge. It was time to make a decision. It was time to pick a path—a new destiny. It was time to look upon the world with fresh eyes and a fresh perspective.
He clenched his hand into a fist, causing the minute cuts in his palm from the broken glass to dapple with blood. He was resolute in his decision and there was no turning back now.
"Javert," he whispered slowly and to himself, "is nothing now." He stared at the Seine's calm exterior—the beauty that its surface and depths had to offer. Even with it raging underneath, it still flowed as one. It gave, while maintaining its magnificent power. "Another story must begin."
The next few months saw quite a change in Javert, not only physically, but also spiritually and mentally. True enough he began to return to his previous bodily shape. His cheeks puffed out and regained a healthy coloring; he put on weight in all of the places that truly needed it; newly added muscle mass grew on his arms and legs from the chores he assisted Madame Loriel with. All the while, his hair and beard continued to grow.
Madame Loriel would often comment, "You need a good trimming. You are starting to look like one of your convicts."
In which, Javert would always reply, "What better way to start a second life than in the complete opposite direction of the first?"
He had grown accustomed to the woman, whose family he had so mercilessly butchered—or how he now held the opinion. However, there was still some unbridled derision held against her due to her sex, for she never warranted such behavior through her kindly and understanding character. Some parts of a man are wholly ingrained into him. For Javert, that was his past. Or, more specifically, his birth.
The woman he knew as his mother had been nothing but a common whore—perhaps the lowliest type of person he considered in this world. She had given life to him from inside of a dirty prison cell, and what a life that became! From the moment he could individually think and consider, he had chosen the path entirely opposite that of his origins. It was due to this woman, however, and her convict lover, his father, that had given him such prejudice against the lower, sordid life forms. After all, they had condemned him with their sins. They had made it impossible for him to stand upright in society. They were the ones responsible for giving him only two options in life. He could either sink like them or swim; he could choose to live with the rats in the gutters or else live looking down on them. And so, he chose.
He had retained a deep animosity for women and criminals alike. He wasn't used to putting his trust into anyone, as he had never done so before in his entire life. He had only ever been able to rely upon the system, upon justice. But, even now that proved to be futile. At the moment, he was in the strange and awkward place of trying to create a new beginning for himself, while still being strongly afflicted by the demons of his past.
Yet, as the days went by, his spirit gradually began to feel lighter than it had ever felt before. It was not his location, as the tavern was still situated within the confines of Paris, though perhaps in a sector where he had never dreamed he would dare go. It couldn't have been the clientele, since all drinkers share a common bond in some way, shape, or form, the likes of which tended to disgust Javert. He could only suppose it to be the curious company he now found himself in day after day.
Madame Loriel's cheery attitude was nothing less than contagious. He did not find himself missing his old scowl after it simply vanished a week or two into his captivity. Her ideals regarding work and labour were something to be admired, he decided. They were not very much unlike his own once. Through hard-work and dedication, determination and physical exertion, anything was achievable. The body would not only profit from the stress, but the soul would also.
Javert's views and considerations of the public proved to be much more challenging to sculpt. After all, isn't that always the case? It became much like a process of schooling. However, his lessons were out in the real world. Madame Loriel took him around to the neighboring poor and sickly. Though adverse to the notion at first, he gradually acquiesced to the visits. Mostly, the people they visited were friends of hers and by talking with them and getting insight into their lives , he was able to understand a bit more of their condition. That isn't to say he suddenly agreed with and accepted their existence. Only that perhaps his condemnation of them lessened to a degree.
Unavoidably, the day did come six months down the road when it was time for Javert to leave the tavern he had grown contended with. He sat down with a new mirror to inspect himself once again. Perhaps he was curious as to whether or not his hard spiritual work had yielded any physical results. But perhaps it was more likely that he was just preparing himself for his departure the next day.
Though the sun was setting and extinguishing all of the light from the sky just outside of the window, he was still able to catch a glimpse of his face. At first, he hardly recognized himself. There was certainly a gleam in his eyes unlike any he had ever seen before. It was due to that that he nearly did not recognize the reflection staring back. The longer he stared, though, the more he recognized features of the old Javert in the new man reflected in the glass. He could make out the chiseled jaw beneath the bushy beard and scruff. The hooked nose had always been there, even if just slightly hidden now. The face was long and worn, seemingly more so than it had been in previous years. Wrinkles had multiplied across his forehead and at the edge of his eyes. Instead of revealing age, like they would have before, they now appeared to speak of wisdom and trial.
He couldn't help feeling that the man in the mirror looked like he was drowning in the mass of hair on and around his face. Perhaps even more disturbing was a sudden flash of all of those he had presided over and harmed in his past. He knew he was no longer the man he used to be, but at the same time he could not be any of the other men that could have been called more honorable.
That was why he lifted the blade with his heart pounding against his ribcage and ran it through a handful of his beard. The strands fell away once he opened up his palm and fluttered easily to the floor. It took only a minute or two more to clear away the rest of the stray hair, so that all that remained was a somewhat cropped and groomed, yet messy result. Studying his reflection again, he believed that he now saw the new Javert—the man he had now become and the man he was still working on.
Javert rose early the next morning, hardly having been able to sleep in the first place. It was the day he was to look for his new niche in the world and that would require a lot of searching. If he was not prepared to make an early start of it then he would not find success.
He wetted his locks to give them a cleaner appearance and kept them loose and free-flowing around his shoulders. His facial hair had been gone over to present a neater outcome. He was not giving too much concern over his appearance, just enough to appear presentable. The clothes he adorned were nothing more than leftovers Madame Loriel had from her husband. They fit him nicely, though perhaps hung rather loosely. It was a simple cotton shirt overlaid with a brown vest and lightweight slacks covered the brown boots he had received. It was a very significant difference from his previous attire, but it accommodated for the season and the new look. Therefore, he couldn't necessarily protest.
Madame Loriel was waiting for him by the open front door with a satchel filled with what had to be provisions and other necessities. He offered her a rather grateful look as he relieved her of its slight weight.
"Leaving so soon?" she inquired innocently.
He had never come right out and explained the situation to her or imparted his need to set out on his own. It was merely assumed that one day the time would come. Now, it was here.
"The time has come," Javert muttered, not committing too much.
"Well you just remember everything you've accomplished here, Inspector Javert," she instructed. Then she thought a moment. "Inspector Javert. You know, if you go around using your same old name, word is going to spread pretty quickly that you are in fact alive and well. I would hate to see what kind of trouble that could land you in. If you ask me, you would be wise to travel under an alias."
Javert sighed, trying very hard to maintain patience, but couldn't help the annoyance she seemed to awaken in him. "What did you have in mind?"
She hesitated a moment. "My husband's name was Jori, Jori Cortelle. You are welcome to adopt his if you wish." She studied his features, attempting to get a read of what he was thinking and what he was going to say. However, that was impossible. So instead, she waited anxiously for an answer. It was a big move for her to offer up her deceased husband's name for the man who ordered his death to use. He must have understood this.
"A name is a name, I suppose," he muttered eventually. "One should be just as good as another."
Madame Loriel smiled appreciatively. "Well go on then before I change my mind."
Javert nodded, tote over his shoulder and a new name on his heart. He got a few meager paces past her before halting and looking back over his shoulder. He knew he was strong enough to leave, but he could not deny the tie that bound him to that place and, though he hated to admit it, that woman. He owed her more than he could say.
"A thank you is in order, I suppose," he mumbled.
"Ah, no need, monsieur," she returned with her naturally brusque manner. "The pleasure was all mine. Now get lost before I decide to make a bill for your stay."
Javert swung back around and walked on into the daylight. Just as he was roaming out of earshot, he caught one last word from the woman who had saved his life.
"Some people," she huffed to herself. "Save their lives and suddenly they think they are welcome for good." And the front door squeaked shut behind her.
Javert mentally commented on this typicality of her. At the same time, though, he smiled very small to himself, while trudging further and further along the road.