XXXV: The Wrath of Fate
Javert had met with Hoight nearly an hour ago. His orders were simple. Wait until night had fallen to attack. He would tell the revolutionaries the opposite of the truth. Javert would convince them that there would be no attack tonight, convince them to lower their guard and ease them into a false sense of security. Then, once Javert's men would strike, the surprised schoolboys would have no time to form a battle plan.
When Javert saw the spindly pile of the barricades, he felt himself pause. No one had spotted him. The handkerchief felt like a dead weight in his pocket and he thought for a moment how easily it would be for him to slip away. He could find Aimée and then they could leave together, unnoticed in the time of conflict.
Frustrated with himself, Javert shook his head, his brow furrowing and jaw clenching shut. Javert loved Aimée, with every fiber of his being, but he could not bring himself to become a deserter.
As quickly as he could, Javert neared the barricades. He heard a shout as he was spotted and he held up his hands. "I have returned from their lines," he called, glancing to the right were he knew the entrance was. He saw Enjolras climb to the top of the barrier and wave him in.
"What have you seen?" Grantaire asked, clapping Javert on the shoulder in the weakening light.
Javert put on a show of looking sincere. "I must admit, they have more men than I had originally thought. Armies to spare."
Concerned murmurs floated around the men and a couple faces flashed with fear.
"So? We have passion. We can fight them all off!" Enjolras said, stepping forward and looking like a headstrong pup. "We are fighting for a just cause, they are following orders. Soldiers don't have heart."
Nor do they have foolish ideas of what is just, Javert thought.
"There will be no attack tonight," the Inspector lied easily, "They intend to starve you out. Strike while you're weak. If we-"
"Liar!" piped up a little voice from a perch on the barricade. Javert looked up, his eyes wide with disbelief as he spotted a grubby faced child. "I recognize this man, it's Inspector Javert!" the boy cawed, pointing with a sardonic smile.
For an instant, everyone froze. Then, Javert whirled and pushed his way to the passageway that led out of the barricade, but the young men were upon him instantly. He ground his teeth and shoved them aside, but there were too many of them. His arms were held back and he struggled, trying to wrench free from the revolutionaries. The dirty boy slid his way down to the cobblestones and studied Javert, his little eyes narrowed as he thought.
"Yup. That's him. He picked me up once at Thénardiers. Would never forget a face like that!"
"Well done, Gavroche!" cheered the men. They started to pull Javert into the café.
Javert managed to force his way free and shoved the men aside. He stumbled inside, looking for anything to use as a weapon. The wood of his baton pressed against his leg and he quickly bent to free it. He had no time, the revolutionaries were approaching fast. The baton slipped from his pant leg and clattered to the floor. Balling his hands into solid fists, Javert swung at the first person he saw, his punch catching them square in the face. There was a flurry of activity, and Javert swung and fought as best he could, but there were just too many of them. He felt strong hands secure his arms again and a solid punch slammed into his gut. A guttural groan escaped his lips and Javert slumped forward, struggling to refill his lungs with air. They let him slide to the floor and he looked upwards, gasping and heaving. Enjolras was approaching with his own baton in his hand.
Consumed with his own rage, Javert glared up at him, a foolish child pretending to walk in a man's shoes, "Don't have the stomach to kill me now, boy?" Javert seethed, "You are all fools. Every last one of you!"
"Shut up," Enjolras snarled, clutching the baton in his hand.
Javert watched as he held it above his head and thrust it downwards with all his might. The Inspector felt a dull thud on the side of his temple and the world went black.
"Aimée, Aimée!" Gavroche called, scuttling through the new darkness of the ally. He found the woman sitting with her head resting back against the wall of the ABC Café. The boy hurried over, his face beaming in excitement. "Aimée! You're missing out! What are you doing back here?"
At the sound of his voice, Aimée opened her eyes and searched Gavroche's face in the dim light. "What's going on?"
"I just saved everyone," Gavroche declared, puffing out his chest and clutching the sides of his coat in his tiny fists.
"What?"
"I did! I found a spy! Inspector Javert, he tried to-"
"What?" Aimée exclaimed, quickly standing and looking down at the proud little boy. She felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. "What did you say?"
"I found Inspector Javert, tried to dress up like one of us."
"What did you do? What did they do?" Panic was a nasty, whispering thing as it began to build inside her. How could she have missed that? Were there gunshots? Her mind betrayed her and showed flashing images of Javert lying broken on the cobblestones, blood pooling from a bullet wound in his chest or between his eyes.
Gavroche took a few cautious steps backwards when he picked up on her distress. "He's inside. They tied him up."
"Is he alive?"
"Yeah."
Aimée pushed past the little boy and hurried back around front. The men were all gathered around the barricade, holding pistols and rifles, laughing and talking with each other as if they were attending a party. Aimée slipped past them and hurried to the door of the café. The floor dropped away from her feet and she actually stumbled against the threshold, her hand to her face when she saw him.
Javert was slumped against a post, his lip bloody and more blood trickled down the side of his face from a bruise that had already started to form. His arms were bound behind him with rough rope and what looked like a noose wrapped around his neck, a warning if he had tried to struggle. The man's eyes were closed and his head slumped forward, the picture of pure defeat. Her heart cracked and she hated herself for being away when this happened. Maybe she could've helped, could've stopped them. No, she had just slipped away and hid in an ally.
A revolutionary she did not recognize was watching over him. Aimée did her best to try and compose herself before she stepped over to him, tearing her eyes away from the unconscious Javert.
"I've been asked to guard the prisoner. You can go out and drink with your comrades."
Her voice sounded alright to her, a little bit shaky in the beginning, but strong enough to make the young man look out longingly at the drinks being shared between Enjolras, Marius, and Grantaire. He gave her a once over, decided that she could be trustworthy, and left his post. Aimée watched him leave, making sure that no one else was looking inside. They all had their backs to the windows of the café.
Aimée fell in front of Javert in a collapse. She reached out and ran her hands over his face as she knelt, the tackiness of the blood on her fingers making her stomach churn. "Oh, Javert…my love…I'm so sorry." A thin groan escaped the man's lips and Aimée's eyes fluttered closed from pain. In his unconsciousness, Javert pressed his face closer to the warmth of Aimée's hand and she opened her eyes to watch him. She wanted to kiss him, trace the lines of his face, take him away from there, but she couldn't She was risking so much just by kneeling in front of the bound man.
Forcing herself to stand, Aimée wiped her hands free of Javert's blood on her pants. She looked around, trying to find some way to free him. However, she knew it was useless. They were surrounded by men who hated him and the path to the barricade's exit was straight through the crowd.
Tears stung behind her eyes, reminding her how weak and foolish she actually was. Aimée bit her cheek until she tasted copper and let her head fall into her hands. How did this happen? They were happy only days ago, sharing a bed, sharing each other. She had worn a ring, sapphire and diamonds. It was hidden away now, she didn't want Enjolras or Éponine to see. Now look where God had put them. One in disguise and the other beaten unconscious and tied to a post.
Aimée pulled a chair sat down, bending as close to him as she dared. The night had settlee outside and she faintly wondered if the stars were shining down on all of this madness, watching.
"Remember when this all started, Mathieu?" she whispered, her voice hoarse with panic and grief. "When I tried to give you flowers I had torn from my father's garden? Remember when I hugged you in the graveyard after my mother's funeral? Remember when I held your hand back at Beaudet's party? Remember that now, as you sleep. Remember how happy we are, how much we love each other. " Aimée wondered if her flimsy actions of comfort actually did any good. She reached out and touched his face again. "We will be all right, when this is all over."
Aimée's head snapped up when she heard the frantic shouting of the men outside. They had all dropped their drinks, frothy beer and dark wine spilling into each other and soaking the cobblestones. She watched as everyone grabbed a weapon and pressed their bodies close to the wooden barricade. She spotted Éponine and Gavroche among them, a pistol in the young woman's hand. Aimée quickly stood from the chair and ran outside. As she neared, she heard the stomping of military boots. Fear seized her and she dashed as quickly as she could to Gavroche. Thinking quickly, she grabbed the boy's wrist and whirled him around to face her. Éponine turned to look as well.
"Gavroche, you need to get inside," Aimée pleaded, "Please. Get inside."
The boy pulled his arm away from her, "Not likely," the little pup barked, "My place is here, fighting for my country."
"Who's there?" a booming voice called, his command muffled from the wood of the blockade. Aimée glanced up, her eyes wide in fear as she looked at Enjolras, Marius, and Grantaire. She tried to plead with them, but there was no use. Enjolras's hand tightened around his rifle and he called back, "FRENCH REVOLUTION!"
"FIRE!"
There was an explosion around them. Aimée enveloped little Gavroche in her arms, desperately trying to protect him from the blast. The thick tang of gunpowder smoke wafted over the barricades and Aimée watched in horror as the boys began to climb their way to the top, some standing to shoot with their guns. The crack of rifles bit at her ears and she struggled to hold back a scream as she watched a young man fall, the red of his blood blooming like a rose on the white of his shirt.
"Aimée, get off me!" Gavroche argued, writhing and twisting his way free from her.
The shock weakened Aimée's arms and she was helpless as Gavroche pushed his way free. He disappeared in the brawl before she had a chance to grab him again. Aimée looked about wildly, the shots of gunfire pounding in her ears. She crouched as closely as she could to the wood of the barricade, too frightened to run back inside or pick up a weapon. Looking up like a terrified rabbit, she spotted soldiers on the balconies above. They were surrounded, fired at from all sides. Aimée screamed when a stray bullet hit a wardrobe above her and wood splinters showered over her head. Looking above her, Aimée could see the tops of the soldiers' tall hats start to peek towards the top of the barricade. They were climbing the wall.
Turning to her right, she could see the revolutionaries start to climb as well, rifles aimed and ready. Gunfire rained overhead, even the explosion of a cannon, and Aimée craned her neck to watch. Looking down, she met eyes with Éponine. Éponine began to crawl towards the fighting, and Aimée desperately tried to claw at her.
"No, Éponine, stay here!"
"I have to go, Aimée!" Éponine had to shout over the chaos.
"No you don't, come back inside with me, you'll stay safe!"
"You can't protect me anymore, Aimée. I'm a grown woman now!"
Aimée looked at her, her brown bangs poking from underneath the brim of her cap, her round cheeks and slender neck. She still saw that little girl she had looked after years ago. Still saw the little girl who had followed her out to the woods and sat on her lap, asking for a story about a princess. Tears began to roll down Aimée's cheeks. No you're not, Éponine. "Please!"
Éponine gave her a small smile and shook her head. "My place is here, with my comrades, with my country."
"You owe nothing to them!" Aimée screamed, growing angry and desperate. She thought of the last conversation she had with Javert. He had insisted that he needed to do his duty, even if it meant a death wish. Why had he insisted? Why was Éponine insisting now? Even little Gavroche?
"Éponine!" Aimée yelled again, watching as her words were ignored and Éponine climbed towards the top. She watched as her little girl shouldered the rifle expertly and fired off a shot, knocking down a French soldier. It was chaos up there, and Aimée hardly knew who to watch. Enjolras, knocking down men left and right with a ferocity beyond his years, Grantaire who shook the bangs out of his eyes before he would fire a shot. Marius, who was too busy reloading his weapon to notice the barrel expertly aimed at his chest, the soldier wielding it already squinting his eye to aim.
"Marius!" Aimée screamed. Then, quick as a blink, Aimée watched in open-mouthed horror as Éponine shoved the boy aside, took the barrel in her bare hand, and held it squarely to her chest. There was a flash, the puff of smoke from the rifle's powder, and Éponine collapsed.
Aimée's scream drowned her.
The world dulled, slowed, quieted. All she could see was the slumped form of Éponine Thénardier rest like a doll against the wood of the barricade. Marius shot the soldier and quickly lifted a barrel full of black powder. Slamming the butt of his firearm into another soldier, the young man wrenched a torch from the fallen officer and held it to the barrel. Aimée didn't hear what he said.
Splinters bit at her fingers as she desperately clawed her way up to where Éponine was lying.
No. No, no, no, no, NO. "NO!" Aimée couldn't hear her own voice, couldn't see anything except for the red staining Éponine's shirt. Her chin shook and her throat began choke on heavy sobs. "Éponine!"
Finally reaching her, Aimée pulled her face into her hands. The young brunette's eyes fluttered open and she searched Aimée's face.
"Is he hurt?"
Aimée sniffed and ran a hand over Éponine's cheek, removing the stupid, ugly hat that sat on her head. "Who?"
"M-Marius."
Aimée looked up and saw Marius shout orders to the soldiers. Amazingly, it sounded as if they had backed off. She looked back down and met Éponine's hopeful eyes. "No. Marius is not hurt."
The heart in Aimée's chest clenched painfully as she saw the look of pure relief sweep over Éponine's face. "Good," she whispered, closing her eyes.
"No, Éponine, look at me," Aimée said, her voice frantic as she softly tapped the young woman's cheeks. "Come on."
The eyes fluttered open and Aimée looked down. She wrenched her own hat off her head and held it up to the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
"I loved him, you know," Éponine said, her eyes starting to glaze. "Marius. I love him with my whole heart."
Aimée looked up, her face contorted by tears and pain.
Éponine met her stormy blue eyes with chocolate brown ones. "Aimée…have you ever loved?"
Her chin shook and she barely choked out, "Yes…"
"Tell me."
Aimée bowed her head, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. "The man inside, Inspector Javert…I have loved him since I was seventeen, Éponine."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Éponine's breath grew ragged and a fresh wave of panic stirred in Aimée.
"And I have loved you, 'Ponine," Aimée admitted.
"I know…."
Aimée felt a seeping warmth tack her fingers and she looked down. She was horrified to see that the blood was soaking through the cap and staining her fingers.
"Aimée…" Éponine said, her head lolling to the side and her eyes even more glazed as she watched her dear friend. "I'm going to die."
Aimée couldn't speak, could hardly breathe. She felt a faint cold mist start to rain from the sky, as if the stars themselves were crying over the girl, barely a woman grown.
"I love you like my own mother," Éponine said, reaching up and clutching Aimée's bloodstained hand in her own and squeezing tightly. "But…please….bring me Marius. I need to see him, speak with him."
Aimée opened her mouth and whispered in a cracked voice, "I don't want to leave you."
"Please."
"Marius," Aimée called, her voice like sandpaper as she tried to yell. The blonde man turned and for the first time, Aimée noticed the pattering of freckles on his face. "Éponine…she needs you."
The young man hurried to where the two women were sitting. Aimée forced herself to stand and climb down to the bottom of the barricade in order to give the some privacy. Feet felt like cement and her hands shook with grief and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the two young people, couldn't bring herself to look away from her dying friend. She was so young…so full of life. Her smile could outshine the diamonds and her eyes were the richest of their color.
Aimée hugged herself and hunched forward as the sobs took over. Thick, ragged things that savaged her body and nearly made her retch. Her throat grew raw and coppery and her eyes clenched shut, trying desperately to block out the world that pressed around her, suffocated her. Her screams shattered the sky and the others turned to watch. When Aimée looked up, she had to cover her mouth when she saw Marius descending the pile of wood with Éponine draped in his arms, her head lolled back limply, her arm swaying uselessly at her side.
"She's dead," Marius said, his own voice cracking from tears. A fresh wave of sobs claimed Aimée and she approached him with tears running like rivers down her face.
"Éponine…my little 'Ponine," she whispered, taking her face in her hands and running her thumbs over her cheeks. She traced her brow with her finger, moved the lines of worry from her face. "Give her to me," Aimée demanded, taking the young woman into her arms. Amazingly, the grief gave her strength and she was able to carry Éponine back inside the café. The men watched her go in silence. Aimée could feel their eyes on her back.
As she walked, Aimée saw the curled up little girl of eight asleep in her arms, the little apples of the girl's cheeks rosy from the cold of the Thénardier's shabby inn and her hair curled around her face. Aimée hummed as she walked, ignoring how her arms screamed from the weight. Finding a table inside, Aimée gently laid Éponine's body down. With tears still slipping from her red-rimmed eyes, the woman took the girl's arms and moved them next to her body to make it look as if Éponine was merely resting. Then, with gentle caresses, Aimée swept the hair from her face. She ignored the ugly splotch of blood on her shirt. Ignored the fact that her chest wasn't rising and falling with breath. Ignored that Éponine's skin was growing colder and colder by the second.
Aimée stood over her and cursed God.
Outside, the fighting had ceased…for the time being. She turned and noticed that Éponine's hadn't been one of the only casualties. Aimée watched as the men picked up their fallen comrades and carried them inside, laying them side by side on the dusty wooden floor. In the corner, Javert was still slumped unconscious.
"Where's Gavroche?" Aimée sniffed, wiping her nose as Marius came in, his face twisted in pain as he stared at Éponine.
"He's left the barricade, he's sending a letter for me."
Aimée turned away from him. "How could you let this happen? How could you drag 'Ponine and Gavroche, who is only a child, into this?"
Marius took a step backwards, surprised by the ferocity in Aimée's voice.
"It's not my fault."
"She loved you!" Aimée yelled, turning to him and pointing to her little girl, grown up and dead on the table. "And what do you do? Drag her into this fight, this pointless, stupid, fight and get her killed!"
"This isn't my doing!" Marius fired back. "I loved her more than you could imagine, she was like family to me! I didn't even know she was here until it was too late!"
The pain made the anger stay. "And what do you have to say of Gavroche? A boy… thrust into the conflict of men."
"That's why I gave him a letter. I was hoping he would stray far from here, far from the danger," Marius said, casting his eyes downwards.
Defeated, Aimée turned back and braced herself on the edge of the table. Silence swelled and threatened to choke the life out of both her and Marius.
"Just because someone didn't love her the way she wanted, didn't mean someone didn't love her with everything they had, Aimée," Marius whispered, his voice a soft murmur. His footsteps were quiet as he turned to go.
Aimée's head lowered as even more tears began to leak from her eyes. These were gentler, the sobs from before dying way to her heavy breath in her lungs. Aimée leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Éponine's cheek. The prayer she whispered burned her mouth and she could feel God's gaze boring down on her, reveling in her pain and craving the sickly sweetness of grief.