A/N: I should stop updating at ungodly hours.

Still I hope you like it. Still grateful to judybear...

Here's the next chapter. Coments are really appreciated

Chapter 47: Close every door

The Jardin du Luxembourg was buzzing with activity as he stepped down of the makeshift stage of a small wooden pavilion that had been set up here for the Easter festivities.

It was a glorious day; a sun blazing high in the sky, the first promise of the warmer season on the horizon.

Triumph was far from Enjolras' mind as he joined his friends, felt their claps on his shoulder, heard their words of appreciation, but he did feel a certain satisfaction at a task accomplished and done well.

"What a splendid dazzle of words", a rather dark, raspy voice joined the multitude of voices from the side, and Enjolras knew before fully turning around that it was Grantaire who had uttered these words, half amused, half mocking, lips twitching in irony.

For some reason, his choice of words made him angry, but he had expected no less from the drunkard and probably always would.

"A dazzle is meant to distract", he answered coolly none the less, for it was hardly possible to let Grantaire's words stand, wrong as they were. "My words are aiming at conviction."

"Ah, and I would be all convinced, if I were not so dazzled", Grantaire gave back with a wink that was as insolent as it was distracting, and Enjolras would not have it.

"Dazzled by spirits you mean, and clouded in mind", he retorted, and Grantaire, all of a sudden sitting in the darkened back room of the Musain on this evening, long after midnight, tipped his glass towards Enjolras and laughed.

"Dazzled by many things", he conceded and took a deep swig. "All of it forming a splendid picture of colorful children's stories." There was mockery in his voice, but his words carried no reprimand but rather a warm sort of amusement. Enjolras was not sure on how to answer to this.

Their discussion was unmarked by their comrades around them who continued their discussion, and finally, torn between annoyance, curiosity and rage, he decided for anger and acted upon it. Enjolras stepped more closely to Grantaire, pace quick and almost threatening.

"If all that you have to spill is darkness I would prefer you remain silent", he snapped, his face right in front of the drunkard's and only with some difficulty, Grantaire focused on him, dark eyes meeting his blue ones, but once they locked, there was no turning back from the magnetism of that gaze.

There was a world of words unsaid in these eyes as time ticked by and breaths passed unnoticed, here, in the almost-darkness of the ruin they were lying in, and Enjolras held on to that gaze of things he would have never thought possible, never thought to be existent. He understood, now and here, at the end of the road and much too late, how blind he had been. And how little he had understood of the real world. He stared at the broken eyes in silence and horror, until finally a voice calling invaded the scenery and the eyes faded to darkness before his screaming thoughts.

He sat up with a jolt, only belatedly realizing he had been sleeping, remembering, snippets of situations happening or almost happening. Now morning had arrived to force him into a new day.

Enjolras felt his hands trembling for a moment, his dreams only confirming what he had read in Grantaire's eyes during these last, terrible moments. How terribly, terribly wrong he had been.

But now it was too late. Everything was too late.

The comrade he might have been was dead and gone.

Enjolras ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to clear his thoughts, took deep breaths to calm down his racing heart. Only after a few moment's calming he felt capable of opening his eyes to see whatever life had now chosen to throw his way.

It turned out that it was Eponine, standing next to one of the armchairs.

The sight of her gave an unexpected jolt to his already confused senses. She wore a dress different from the usual tattered combination of skirt and blouse – wherever she had acquired this from, he did not feel inclined to ask – and looked at him with a frown deeply ingrained upon her face.

She did not seem overly tired, but that might have been difficult to distinguish given that she was somewhat haggard of appearance even on the best of days.

And yet…

She saw much, Enjolras remembered, and understood so much more. This night's conversation had been… odd, and certainly not what he had expected. Not that he was certain why he had even confided in her, but maybe the reason was simpler than one would have thought. She had been there, and she had seemed relatively lucid – as compared to Combeferre who seemed half-mad with weariness and grief and worry – and his unseen specters had threatened to overwhelm him in the darkness.

She had repaid this trust with a remarkable insight, and he could not help but wonder where she would have learned to talk this way, and to look so deep. However she had been able to do this, she had cut through his confusion like a knife and at least allowed him to see clearly once more.

However little he liked the scenery.

But maybe, after all Combeferre was right. Maybe in the end they were all humans, women and men, nobles and abaissés alike, and given the right ground every seed would grow in its own right, and every small plant could become a mighty tree.

It was a thought he had not considered in full before, and he was not sure yet if he found it encouraging or disquieting.

For now, however, Eponine was looking at him, and obviously expecting an answer.

He forced himself out of his pensive state into full wakefulness and blinked a few times to chase the remnants of dreams and musings away.

"I'm sorry", he spoke, voice rough from sleep, "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, we've got a problem. And a visitor. Which led to the problem", Eponine reiterated and took a step to the side. Behind her, he could discern the blond-brown curly head of Marc Lamarin, who looked as young as ever, and disquieted into the bargain. Stephane Barilou was at his side, arms crossed in something that betrayed a deep annoyance.

Enjolras placed his feet on the floor and got up from the chaiselongue.

"Lamarin, Barilou", he greeted the members of the Cougourde of Aix. "What can I do for you?"

"We've been at the Musain, hoping to meet some of you there for an exchange of information." He seemed youngest when he was excited, and now he was very much so, cheeks flaming, eyes blazing, and it made Enjolras almost feel old. "But they didn't let us in."

Enjolras frowned. While the Musain was not customarily open in the morning, Lamarin had been there several times, and clearly in the company of Les Amis. It did not sound like Lucien to slip up thus.

"Beg your pardon?"

"They didn't let us in", Lamarin reiterated. "Told me that the sort of me wasn't welcome there."

This indeed sounded like a bunch of ill news. Enjolras shook his head, felt an exasperated "what?!" slipping over his lips. However, there was no telling what the real trouble was, and Enjolras did not like relying on rumors.

"Eponine?" She was standing at the armchair still, raising a brow as he spoke to her in a tone of command, but she did not contradict him right away. "Wake Combeferre, will you? We'll get to the bottom of this. I'll be right back."

He vanished into the small washing cabinet and went through a hurried toilette – washing face and hands and having a quick shave that was – by his usual standards – rather sloppy. Coming back he found Combeferre on his feet as well and realized with a certain amount of relief that his comrade seemed more awake than before, more alert and on the whole, much more like himself.

A few minutes later they were on their way, walking hurriedly through morning Paris towards the Musain to get to the bottom of this trouble as soon as possible.

Enjolras was not sure whether there was a word for the way Lucien behaved, when they finally arrived at the Musain. The man almost twice his age had the distinctive look of a boy who had commited a minor offense, and yet, the odd mixture of defiance and uneasiness in his demeanor hinted fairly clearly that this went beyond a silly debate.

Michelle, who was standing next to him, her hands wrought into her apron, was positively squirming.

Louison, finally, was nowhere to be seen.

"I have gotten some odd report from our friends here", Enjolras started without preamble, feeling no patience at all for politeness during this hour. "Lucien… what's going on?"

The man scratched his greying head, looking towards them with a significant amount of uneasiness. Enjolras had known him for the better part of five years, and this was the first time to see him in such a state.

"Monsieur… I really don't know how to say this", Lucien began, placing his hands into the pockets of his breeches. "I mean, we have known you and your friends for a very long time."

"Indeed." Lucien turned towards Combeferre almost a little too quickly, and Enjolras felt a moment's annoyance at his friend for cutting in on him like this, but Combeferre did things in his own manner and schedule, and he was stubborn and convinced of his path in his own right. They had had that sort of conversations before, and the outcome had been as predictable as it had been similar.

"More than five years now, is it not?" Combeferre's voice was deceptively soft, and Lucien nodded, sadness clearly visible on his features.

"More than five years indeed", he confirmed. "Which is what makes this…", he attempted at a wry smile with a shrug, "… difficult."

Enjolras only barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Lucien", he asked, quickly losing his patience after an evening of horror and a night with little sleep. "I would very much prefer that you tell us what is going on. You will forgive me for this but both my time and patience is limited."

"Yes, I can understand that", Lucien nodded vehemently. "Especially after yesterday. Ah. Well. Yesterday."

"I take it you heard what happened in the Corinthe then", Combeferre guessed, and again, Lucien responded with a quick jerk of his head.

"We have indeed… which leads to this… unfortunate situation. Look, Messieurs… Mademoiselle. I do not want to seem ungrateful. I know you are good customers. I know you are good men. Fighting for the right thing. And I absolutely hate to… but… but the Corinthe is in absolute shambles. I mean, I have seen it this morning. There's nothing left. And Mére Houcheloup dead…"

He shook his head and various sentiments were chasing one another on his features.

"It's all we have, you see?"

That was Michelle, much more softly than her husband, and yet the utter misery on her face was all the more telling. "The café. It's all we have."

"That and our lives…", Lucien added quietly.

Enjolras took a moment to process this. This was a blow that came from an absolutely unexpected vantage point. The Musain had been one of his first haunts when he arrived in Paris years back, and it had been a constant of his life ever since. He was not in the habit of having many friends – or frequenting etablissements for the sole purpose of socializing; and yet Paris had changed all that, had turned his previously fairly solitary life into a busy one, and one that was full of people, and friends.

All of this was somehow connected to the Musain, and yet, even though he did not dare to spell it out, Lucien's message was more than clear.

"Are you throwing us out?!" Enjolras asked, shaking his head in exasperation. "Is that what you are trying to tell me?"

Now Lucien was indeed squirming, but he managed a half-nod at least.

"I… I wouldn't want to put it into that many words, but… after all that had happened, I…"

"There is no use in hiding a truth or not acting upon a decision, man." Anger crept into his voice, at Lucien, the world, the situation, the attack on the Corinthe and the slowness with which the city could be turned towards a better world, and he showered it upon the man in front of him.

One day after losing Grantaire they were about to lose the Musain. How befitting. After the drunkard was gone, there was also no place, no home base to drink any more.

There were days where the universe exhibited and odd kind of humor and symmetry.

Lucien flinched at the harshness of his words, but he held his ground.

"Well… Monsieur, all right then. I don't want the café to be next, if that's what you want to hear. I would love to be able to tell you something different, but it's really all we have, and for all my sympathies with you and your goals I do value my life. It was something different when there was just a few police interrogations to withstand, but I won't see my life's work going up in flames."

"We understand, Lucien." As always, Combeferre was the one who found the more sympathetic words, and who found it in his heart to forgive the man's cowardice right away. Enjolras was not very inclined to agree with his friend's words, but this was how they worked, and this was within the perimeter of Combeferre. He would not cut in on him unless with good reason, and there was truth in the thought that a shelter unwillingly given was, after all, not a shelter at all.

He let his gaze wander up and down the Musain, the familiar façade with the faded writing, the chairs and tables that he could see through the smoke stained window glass of the first floor, and for a moment, it almost seemed as if he could see the shadow of Grantaire moving inside the building like the ghost of better, brighter days.

Like a memory of all the things he only learned to appreciate after they were lost.

For a moment he could do nothing but stare blankly at the building, gripped by a wistfulness that was utterly unfamiliar to him.

A dream, a hope, a family.

Gone too soon….

An hour later, they were sitting in the Jardin du Luxembourg, sharing a few bites of sweet bread they had bought at a bakery on their way here; feeling utterly dejected and slightly out of ways to turn. The weather was holding, but there was the hint of a thunderstorm in the air, the warm weather had taken on humidity and a heaviness that made clothes feel damp and clammy.

Eponine, having spent so much of her life in the streets and thus being more attuned to the caprices of weather, was sure that there would be lightning before the day was done.

They had taken seats in one of the alcoves of the garden, thoroughly deserted at this morning hour. The privacy was appreciated, although the hideout was only a pale substitute of their familiar dwellings in the Musain. At least, it provided some protection from the open view, and a few stone benches allowed them to sit without the grass still moist with dew soiling their clothes.

Normally Eponine would not have minded, but neither was she sure whether Montparnasse wanted the dress back, nor was she unaware of the worth of that relatively new – and unsoiled – garment.

And so she had taken a seat between Combeferre and Stéphane Barilou, who started to fidget impatiently as soon as he had wolfed down his own bread, looking around the assembled crowd that was taking more time to eat their breakfast.

Combeferre looked better, Éponine decided, more rested and at peace with himself, and Marc Lamarin was much of his usual self – slightly twitchy, uncertain, eager and young. It was Enjolras, who seemed changed during this morning. He was paler than usual and his blue eyes lacked the piercing, determined quality that she had come to expect of him. Instead, he seemed absent, lost in thought, and this was not something he associated with him.

Combeferre was the man of contemplation. Enjolras – that much was clear at a single glance – preferred action.

They had not spoken much after leaving the Musain, and still silence reigned between them, comfortable, but also telling of the blow they had just received, on top of all the others during the last days. Whoever intended to keep them from doing what they had planned to fulfill was showing remarkable determination.

Eponine frowned and wondered if the crowd she associated with had really become this dangerous to someone, or if a government official was seeing specters and reacting on a simple whim that was neither easily explained nor justified.

She was not certain what she thought of Lucien's decision. She knew very well of the desire to stay out of trouble and unpredictable dealings, but on the other hand he had once decided to join the Friends of the ABC and it seemed wrong as well to recall that sort of agreement later on.

Éponine maintained a principle of keeping to her promises, although she rarely made them. And so she had a certain sympathy for the feeling of betrayal that had been so clearly on Enjolras' face as he spoke to their former ally.

But this was not the only aspect of the matter. Teaming up in pairs had helped as long as the assassins had relied on cloaks and daggers, but that matter was clearly a measure of the past. It might still protect them from a stray knife, but the danger and the stakes of the game had grown.

What a moment, she thought, to throw her lot in with them.

And yet there was a certain satisfaction in moving towards a decision point. For good or ill; Eponine could not find it in her to regret what she had done.

And thus, she offered her musings to the group.

"There's a point to what the patron has said that is true, if nothing else", she began and felt attention moving towards her. Dimly she realized that either the magnetism of Enjolras' gaze had lost momentum in this situation, or she was getting used to it in small measures, because it was easier not to feel under scrutiny and judgement now than it had been on previous occasions.

"What do you mean?" Combeferre asked, his long, nimble fingers tearing off a small bit of the sweet bread he still held.

"Wherever we'll meet, the danger that we will be attacked again in that manner is high. It worked once and it worked pretty well if you forgive me for saying so, so why not do it again? Make people afraid to work with us, to help us? Seems pretty efficient."

Enjolras nodded slowly.

"A devious tactics, but not without logic, I'll have to admit. Lamarin, Barilou, I assume you have not yet checked on any of the Cougourde meeting places?"

Barilou shook his head slowly.

"We haven't, no. But on the other hand we don't have a meeting place as you did with the Musain and the Corinthe. We've tried to change places often enough, and to meet outside if the weather permits it."

"Wise, in hindsight", Combeferre commented with a sardonic smile. "I feel compelled to congratulate you on that."

Barilou tipped his head in a mock salute and nodded.

"Like all things in life that has advantages and disadvantages. But so you maybe should rather ask the Barrière if they're still welcome at Richfeus. When it comes to Saint Antoine, they are probably in a better position, given that the Joliet's patron is a fully fledged member of the cell. As to Picpus, that remains to be seen."

"True", Enjolras responded. "It is something we should find out, and soon. We need a new home base."

"Only to have it blown up again?" Eponine responded, unable to keep the sarcasm fully out of her voice. He matched her bit by bit, a raised brow over cool blue eyes.

"What else do you suggest, Mademoiselle?" he asked using the same tone, and for a moment, Eponine felt that she lost momentum. Also he seemed to use the honorific address to purposefully annoy her, and she had to admit it worked.

None the less, there was some kind of truth in his answer. Complaining was easy, showing an alternative was not quite as much so, and she had to admit that the situation was, on the whole, difficult.

Another tavern might be subject to the same treatment as the Corinthe – although the décor of the wine shop had probably eased the preparation of the attack. Of course powder was still not easy to come by, so there was a certain hope that whoever stood against him had used their supplies for now.

Depending on the resources of their enemies, this might be a short-lived free breath, though.

Éponine realized that they had to think along completely different lines.

Their enemies had moved into the open. This meant that they could only chose between confrontation – difficult, given the fact that the enemy was faceless – and avoidance.

Which meant moving to more secret quarters.

"And of course we all understand we have a stray sheep somewhere." Stephane Barilou's comment seemed almost off-handed, but his posture spoke a different language. His calm was forced. His worry was great.

"What?" asked Lamarin, but the other three only exchanged a silent glance. They had not given it much thought yet, none of them, but the thought did carry a certain logic.

"We had concluded on only including the inner circles of our groups into the planning of these assemblies. Even Madame Houcheloup did not know what to expect. She thought it was Bahorel's birthday that he was celebrating, and while there is a probability that she guessed and told someone, I think the fact that she died in an attack on her own wine shop renders this idea unlikely."

"Unless it was unconsciously done", Enjolras contradicted, lips pressed together closely. "She may have mentioned something to someone who drew the right conclusions."

"True", Barilou answered. "That would be the relatively harmless alternative. But that would require either luck on our opponent's part to be in the right place at the right time, or a fairly thorough surveillance net. And that is an idea that I not only do not like, but also one that I think is unlikely."

Combeferre nodded.

"I agree. Our opponents clearly do have resources, but I cannot help but think that if they had a vast net of supporters, they would have acted differently none the less."

"So a traitor." Éponine did not fear speaking the word. And yet, she felt a shiver running down her spine. Of course where she came from betrayal was common, but the wretched and wrecked of the city still featured a slightly warped sense of honesty. Betrayal was due to unclear formulations and loopholes of agreements. To violate an agreement directly was something that needed to be thought through well. Consequences could be dire.

In the world she had entered now, apparently people played by a different set of rules.

"For lack of a better word yes", Combeferre concluded. "A disquieting thought. We are not only allies, but mostly friends as well."

"Which doesn't play into your advantage, if you forgive me saying, Monsieur", Éponine remarked. "Trust is all good and well, but it invites the vultures. They say the right things and you invite them in and then – all of a sudden, you know all about them."

She only realized what she was saying as soon as the words were out, and a quick glance to Enjolras, whose gaze wandered between annoyance, worry and a certain wry amusement told her that he had understood as well.

"It wasn't me", she answered none the less, just to clarify matters, and his lips twitched briefly.

"You joined after this started", he gave back drily. "That does inspire a certain level of confidence."

For a split second, there was some life returning into his eyes again, and his lips twitched again. A joke, again; a tease, as she realized with astonishment. Now and here and from him of all things.

"I'm glad", she answered, mimicking his tone drily and he held her gaze for a moment before he turned back to Combeferre again.

"I cannot believe that it is one of us", the philosopher answered with a shake of his head. "This… no. It cannot be."

"Bravely spoken", Barilou answered with mockery. "But that is something all of us would say. And yet, facts speak for themselves."

"I might have another idea." Éponine had wrestled with whether to broach this subject or not for the better part of the way from the Jardin du Luxembourg to the Corinthe, where they wanted to check on the status of the excavations from the site as well as on their friends who had taken refuge in an apartment nearby.

Combeferre and Lamarin had separated themselves to turn towards La Force to check on Hélène. Marc had some new ideas on how to construct a defense for Madame which were appreciated by Enjolras, even though Éponine was not sure that she had followed the discussion accurately.

Of course, Combeferre had not denied the possibility to see Hélène de Cambout, and so they had departed, taking with them Stéphane to drop him off at the Necker, which was quickly becoming the regular assembly point for the Cougourde, as long as Joseph was unaccounted for and Jacques was bedridden with his injuries.

Which left Eponine and Enjolras alone on this errand, and this was why she had started to speak at all.

Éponine had begun to like the group of friends that she had now for all intents and purposes joined, but Enjolras had been the one who extended the hand to her, and that was not easily forgotten. He had been the one who opened the door – an act that Marius had not been able to carry out for years, even though Éponine now realized that she had never wished more strongly for something. And there were the conversations, half-hidden in the dark, where she had understood a part of him and he had grasped a part of her.

He was cool and forbidding, but, if one made the effort, not so difficult to understand as that.

And one of the things she understood was that his loyalty, once gained, was absolute.

He would not betray her – hopefully not even judge her.

He confirmed her suspicions by not even stopping in his stride. The only sign that he had even heard was a slight tilt of his head towards her.

"Go on."

"You will probably not like it", Éponine continued cautiously. "So please hear me out before you dismiss it, will you?"

Enjolras heaved a silent sigh.

"Éponine", he answered. "The situation is not such that I would dismiss anything, however wild the idea. But if it sets your mind at ease, yes, I promise to hear you out."

The moment he said it, Éponine felt herself relax slightly. There was hope that the dreadful scene that Marius had given her yesterday on her more sordid past would not see a repetition then. That was calming.

"I've been thinking about the matter of a meeting place", she began to convey the thoughts she had carefully weighed on their way. "And about a truly safe haven. After yesterday, I think we can't dismiss any thing that they would do to attack us, can we?"

He pressed his lips together and shook his head in a silent "no".

"So, wherever we meet, there will be the same danger, especially if we do not find out who is telling on us. But… maybe we can make things more difficult for them."

Enjolras' stride slowed slightly. He was interested.

"Go on?"

"I am pretty sure the only way this attacked worked the way it did was, because the attacker was unwatched for a long while and so was the Corinthe. He could prepare everything and had a lot of time. That means our new meeting place should be something that is never unwatched. So, either we can set up a regular sentry to make sure that no trouble comes up – or we can try to get some protection."

Now Enjolras halted, turning around to her fully.

"That is easier said than done, Éponine. Have you not just said yourself that trust is the key measure in this game?"

Éponine shook her head.

"No. It is not necessarily trust. It is more… a certainty that we will not be betrayed. That's not the same."

Enjolras frowned, but he could not hide that he was intrigued.

"In what sense?" he asked and Éponine took a deep breath. After the next sentences, turning back would be very, very difficult.

"Lets…", she began, "let's assume I know a few people who owe me a favor. Let's assume, it's a big one. And one of them knows a lot of other people. Among them some who have… more unusual strongholds."

Enjolras snorted and shook his head, but true to his word, he did not comment or contradict her. His eyes were glittering with questions, but he remembered his promise and Éponine continued.

"I could call that favor and ask for a stronghold that is protected. I'm not sure the favor is enough to deal with that, but that will depend on negotiation anyhow. But whoever these people are, they certainly don't want government officials nosing around in their business. And they won't want us blown up if they grant us sanctuary."

The look on Enjolras' face had grown darker with each passing second, but still, he held his tongue, and Éponine felt a quick rush of gratefulness for this.

"That's it", she finally asked and prepared for the storm.

However, his response was rather cool than angry.

"If I gather correctly you suggest we hand ourselves over to the mercy of criminals."

Éponine shrugged and then nodded. She wouldn't have said it that way, but it was not wrong.

"This is out of the question." She had half expected this response, although she was surprised that he did not seem angry, just very firm in his statement. "I will make no deals with criminals."

"You wouldn't", Éponine contradicted. "I would."

Enjolras shook his head again.

"I would not like to see you do it. I will not forbid it, for this is certainly not within my right but…", he hesitated for a moment, holding her gaze with a slight frown, "I would not be glad to see it. I will not sell what I believe in to those who spit on every ideal that I uphold, and I would rather you did not as well. In addition, I will certainly not put the safety of my friends in the hands of people that will sell it to the highest bidder at the first opportunity."

"That wouldn't happen that easily"; Éponine contradicted. His reaction was not unexpected and still she would not give in so easily. "Breaking word is not something you do easily, also not among us. A favor is a favor. A promise is a promise. The rules aren't written like your fancy lawbook, but they are still valid and true. Penalty is isolation, and no one survives that if they live as we do. A word's a word. In good and bad sense. If we manage to get a promise, and if we manage to get the promise in a way he can't wiggle out of it, then he'll probably hold to it."

Enjolras looked at her with a raised brow.

"Honor amongst the thieves after all?" he commented, and Éponine shrugged.

"In a sense at least. Look..:", she took a step towards him, following an impulse she could not fully explain, "I was just offering. It was something that came to my mind, that's all. I was sure you wouldn't like it, but I thought it was worth considering at least. If it's a no, then it's a no." She shrugged. "And we'll think of something else."

Enjolras looked at her for a moment, and now his features were indeed unreadable, yet the way they moved over her face, now holding her gaze, now trying to discern her expression, was curious and she did not know what to make of it.

"I appreciate your resourcefulness", he said finally, after a moment, and contemplated how to continue before he put thoughts into words. "It is… not something I would have thought of, and I do understand the magnitude of the offer."

He ran a hand through his curls, his gaze straying for a moment, and Éponine realized that the reason was that his expression was wavering for a moment, showing a measure of strain and tiredness that she had not known he carried.

But it was less than twelve hours since a friend of his had died in his arms.

Had died saving him, most likely.

And friends had died in the meeting he had called. He did carry guilt, and Éponine understood that he would not dismiss it either.

"But it does not seem reasonable to sacrifice conviction to necessity, and I will not join with criminals." His voice was firm again, although slightly bitter, and he pressed his lips together for a moment, before he continued.

"But I would like to discuss the matter with the others if you agree. This is not my decision alone to make." He turned around facing Éponine again, and she realized with a jolt that he was speaking to her as an equal, one warrior to another, not knight to princess, but captain to captain.

It was a heady thought.

"If you agree, of course", he continued, effortlessly, all dismissiveness gone.

Éponine considered this for a moment.

"Don't tell Marius", she then said, and to her profound and utter astonishment, something ghosted over his features that could have almost been a smile.

"No", he said simply. "I won't."