Work Text:
Gunshots drowned out screaming and smoked choked every unfortunate soul who dared to breathe in.
Éponine should not have been there: this fight was not hers. The insurgents were the ones who held the reins of this revolution in calloused hands, ignoring the burning bite of leather as others tried to take them back. None of this served as any interest to Éponine. Why should she care to take time to overthrow the monarch? What benefits would come to serve her then? What was there to reap from seeds she hadn’t sowed?
Men and women alike stood upon the barricade in the fight for France, a fight for their beloved country. Their actions were driven by logic and hope. Éponine did not attend the barricade for either of those aforementioned reasons. Instead, she joined in the battle on a more personal level, her thoughts swarming to jump into the boiling water of pathos rather then logos. She dubbed her thoughts with every word synonymous with “ridiculous” and “foolish.” Nevertheless, here she stood, pulling her hat further down on her brow while her heart continued its aching.
Love, in fact, was what had brought her to this barricade. Not love for her country like others, but for a more tangible thing: a man. It was love that had convinced her to hide the letter she was supposed to deliver to another belle away; love that drove her to the barricades on June 5th, dressed as someone she was not; love that would, no doubt, be her indecorous undoing.
Her gaze turned to the object of her affection, who was speaking quickly and softly with another young man. How queer, that their exchanged words might be the last ones ever spoken by either of them. She didn’t believe this revolution would fail per se, but it wasn’t likely that this battle would end without losses or other casualties. Perhaps the man she loved was too die tonight, perhaps it would be his friend, or perhaps she was the one who would walk beside death soon.
“You there, boy,” someone said to her, dragging her back to the present. “Pass me that keg, would you?”
Looking to see who spoke, she nearly scoffed aloud at the cruelty of fate. Of course it had to be the man she loved requesting that of her. And like it should have been, he did not seem to recognize her. Who would recognize a gamin as an infatuated girl, anyway? As per request, she heaved the keg of gunpowder into her arms and her beloved took it from her without a second glance back. That was to be the order of things.
She had never meant to fall in love with Marius. Her quickly formed affection was based on the fact that he was kind to her. He pressed money into her palm and offered her a smile every now and then, speaking to her. Though the smiles seemed forced, and his teeth were gritted as he spoke, Éponine could not find it in her heart to care. Prior to meeting Marius, she believed she had felt love before and had carved the definition of it in stone. However, upon speaking to Marius for the first time, the stone crumbled to dust, the word awaiting a new meaning.
Montparnasse had been her first beau. He had spoken softly to her and, too, offered her smiles. His smiles were never kind, however: he was a snake, poison dripping from his fangs with every flash of his teeth. Éponine could ignore harsh words, but never a knife. Marius was too good for knives, and would never brandish one angrily at her like Montparnasse had done. That is why Éponine found herself wading through the deep waters of affection towards Marius, instead of stopping where it was shallow for Montparnasse.
It was love for Marius that, as previously mentioned, brought her to the fight, and it was the same love that had led her to see the musket pointed now at beloved Marius: the brave boy who was too distracted by courage and foolishness as he climbed the barricade with a keg to notice this danger. It was her knowledge that her feelings were unrequited that aided her in her scramble across broken bits of furniture to the national guardsmen. It was an unknown feeling that had caused her to cover the musket’s muzzle with her hand. It was grief that crafted the smile she gave to the Grim Reaper.