-Chapter 1-

"And now, fellow citizens, we are on the right way to a better future! With our June Revolution we lightened a spark of hope for all the people who thought they had sunk too deep to ever see the light again. For some of us the 5th and 6th June had been the day of death. But I say: Don't let their sacrifices be for nothing! My brothers and sisters, I say the end is where we start from!", resounding, thunderous applause filled the café. Only one man was able to raise such emotion in his audience's souls. Once again the leader of Les Amis de l'ABC proved himself to also be the rightful leader of the revolution.

Èponine felt a shiver run down her spine. Enjolras' words never failed to raise an unbelieving wave of euphoria inside her, even though she didn't want to admit it to herself! She couldn't help but be caught by the charismatic revolutionist's eyes. His look was grave but determined. Enjolras' eyes were cold as always, but when he spoke of revolution, ideals and barricades his grey eyes seemed to catch fire. Èponine had never been fond of Enjolras. She had always seen a rich boy playing the revolutionary hero because his life was too boring, but that had changed after the barricade fight. He had fought with his people till the end, he didn't run away when it got ticklish. He had fought with pride and in that moment the rich boy had earned her respect. It didn't mean that she liked him, but she at least knew that he was serious with his plans and ideals.

But still he was Enjolras… Enjolras who fought for equality, but never spoke a word with her although she nearly died at his barricade! The proud, cold and closed up, rich Enjolras with his arrogant manners!

It had been four months now since the June Revolution. Many people had expected the revolutionary organisations to crumble but those two days fighting at the barricades had given the revolutionists more strength, hope and courage than anything else. Many people had left their lives at the barricade of freedom and had become a new reason for the survivors to fight. Bahorel, Lesgle, Prouvaire, Feuilly and Gavroche had died fighting for equality at those days of June. But it seemed that the revolution had never been more effective than now. And everyone knew that Enjolras contributed his sorrow and rage to it.

Marius and Cosette had married quickly after the events at the barricade. Èponine assumed that Marius' near-death-situation had made it clear to him that in times like this he shouldn't wait too long because death could always be faster. Èponine had reasoned that a life in the shadow of Cosette was not the life she wanted and had used the four months to grieve about Gavroche. Times had been hard, harder than ever which was nearly impossible due to the fact that Èponine's life had always been a mess. But somehow she had found a way through the darkest hours. Everyone had found his way to deal with the days of the barricade, but it was Enjolras' belief in the revolution and the martyrs' sacrifice which held the revolutionists together. Still Èponine couldn't deny that she somehow hated him for indirectly taking her brother from her! To Èponine it seemed that the leader of the Les Amis was the coldest person ever, his only affection being his revolution. She had never seen him cry, as the others did. She had never seen him regret. He had put his emotions in words, but to Èponine no word that was spoken to her in her whole life had been true or honest. Why should he be?

Did he grieve for his friends? Èponine had never seen any other emotion on the marmoreal revolutionist's face than the one he put on holding his speeches. The question was: Were those emotions honest or just a mask to call the people together and bring them in line?

Enjolras looked down from his podium on the crowd calling and screaming applause. He felt the special kind of adrenaline flowing through his veins which always filled him when he held a speech. He felt good up there, standing on the podium and fighting for his ideals. He knew how to made use of his special ability to fight not only with weapons but also with words. Enjolras knew that it was a gift that the words seemed to flow from his mouth and directly reached the peoples' ears and hearts.

He raised his fist in the air and shouted "Vive la France". With this gesture he left the podium with straight and precise steps and vanished from Èponine's sight. She felt tears making their way from her eyes down her cheeks. Gavroche would have been beside himself with joy and euphoria, but now the only thing left of him was his memorial… Èponine walked to the bar, one more drink to Gavroche and the other fallen and she would leave…

He made his way through the crowd, Marius gave him a pat on the back and Enjolras gave him a short nod with grave expression. He wasn't in the mood for a talk right now. Enjolras had often wondered how his friends could connect a revolution with good mood, wine and laughing… A revolution wasn't some free-time-activity. A revolution was bond for life, an ideal you would always cling to, all in all it was an earnest and important project which defined the rules you based your life on. Without looking back Enjolras left the café.

He felt the cold October breeze blowing through his blond, wavy locks and leaned against the house wall. Sometimes he asked himself if he would have to answer for his friends' death. Hadn't he been the one who had shown them the path of revolution? Had it been wrong to convince them that France deserved a better future? Had they been as fond of the revolution as he was himself or had they just been caught by his euphoria into something that they would never actually want to die for?

Enjolras had known what danger a revolution brought but in his mind and fantasies he had always hoped that he would be the martyr and not his friends. Enjolras had fought for his ideals, but sometimes he felt such grief for his friends that he had the feeling they died for him, not for their dreams as one should actually do in a revolution. Today was one of those days where he knew that he was actually empty, the only thing keeping him alive was his revolution and deep within Enjolras knew that this would be his death…

A death he had no problem dying, a death his friends had already died…

Outside Enjolras took a deep breath and decided that it was the best to go back to his friends. Just when he was about to turn around and head back to the café's door he felt something hitting his body hard.

Enjolras cursed and tried to keep his balance "Merde, watch your way!" It was a young woman with dark brown, nearly black curls. She was wearing a worn out, tattered brown dress that highlighted her slim figure and as far as Enjolras could see, her face was strained with tears that made their way down her cheeks. It was Èponine…

Enjolras heard her mumble something like "Pardon, precious Monsieur" but the sarcasm she put into it was clearly audible. She tried to pass him hastily and didn't even give him a short look.

"Èponine, what happened?" Enjolras' tried to sound as polite as possible, though his interest was little.

"Nothing that Monsieur should rack his revolutionary head about" she snapped with a voice fierce as a blade. He looked at her with cold, grey eyes as she turned around again he tried to hold her back and put his hand on her shoulder. "Monsieur, I don't need your sympathy for it was you who brought this despair about me or better my brother! " Èponine now looked Enjolras straight in the eye. She searched for a spark of understanding, sorrow or even bad conscious, but she failed. She could have also tried to find those three aspects in a marble statue's eyes.

Enjolras knew what she meant, he had been the one who Gavroche had been most fond of. Enjolras had been Gavroche's example. Still he didn't want his own thoughts about his complicity with his friends' death be affirmed by her. "I didn't force you're brother into this revolution. I didn't want him to be at the barricade that day! He was a brave and honourable young boy, which I would have never wanted to die that day!".

"Yet I never saw you grieve about him! Or about any of the others!" her voice sounded shrill in Enjolras' ears and he had never seen her that agitated.

"I can't let my emotions come through Mademoiselle! Emotions are primitive and keep your brain from working, they would distract me from my… "

She cut him off losing control about herself now. "From your what Monsieur? From your revolution? You mean the revolution you feed with people's emotions? You make use of those feelings you think so little of! It is people's emotions, who lead them, so how can you degrade them to a distraction of your revolution? " .

Enjolras was caught off guard for a moment. He had never looked at the situation that way and he had never expected the fragile gamine to speak with such structured and overthought strength in her words.

"If you are so averse to my revolution, why did you fight at the barricade? You think yourself clever, turning my words against me, but if you think that way of me, why did you join my revolution that day?" Enjolras' had also gotten louder and every syllable oozed with averseness.

"Believe me Monsieur, different to you I can't spend my whole time daydreaming about a revolution with plans that are way too unrealistic to work out…"

"Oh yes! Now I remember… It was Marius who you wanted to be with that day! But now tell me Mademoiselle Èponine: Which imagination is more unrealistic? My dream of a free France with equality for everyone, or your pie in the sky believing that Marius would ever have eyes for you?" This time Enjolras had cut her off. His words had come out sharp, cold and as quick as a flash.

Suddenly Enjolras felt pain twitching through his lip and heard a slap. "You think you are a revolutionist, but you talk down to my like any other rich man! I don't know what my brother saw in you, but it's a shame he died for you" Èponine's voice was no more shrill or loud, it was silent and deadly with a slightly pained undertone. She turned around on her heels and left the Enjolras without glancing back.

Enjolras felt something hot and wet drop from his mouth. He put his hand up to sample the spot where she had hit him. Looking at his hand angrily his apprehension proved itself to be true. Èponine's rage had left some marks on him. He wiped the blood from his lip and spit out so he got rid of the rusty taste of blood…

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