once and always || enjonine

| iv

that fateful night in june 1823 passed without a word between the two. the tension between them was volatile: their metaphorical cord of harmony had been most ardently scorched.

another year had passed and éponine and enjolras did not see each other— it isn't as though they would have necessarily fancied each other's company, however. their fury continued for months. éponine was abhorred that he had referred to her so vulgarly; meanwhile, enjolras was obdurate and refused to deny this opinion. there was no intention of pardoning one another, lest they remember each other.

the months between junes ended as swiftly as they had arrived and in the blink of an eye, summer had made her triumphant return. many of fate's defining events had occurred over the year: certain happenstances had been laudable, yet others had been so unfortunate that a long period of misery was inevitable.

in june of 1824, there was no debate as to whether the enjolras family would overnight at the sergeant de waterloo: enjolras's mother had died on christmas eve. it had been a most tranquil death: her bedside was occupied by her loved ones, and she had accepted her fate long before because she had been confined to her bed by illness for nearly three months by the time her heartbeat at last ceased. enjolras had accepted it as well. even if he had wanted to, he could not weep: perhaps that is what happens when you can hardly claim a bond with someone.

his father had not apprehended the circumstance as easily. it grieved enjolras to watch his father grasp his mother's lamented hand as though it could revive her, or to accompany him to the churchyard every day to visit her grave. enjolras had lost count of how many flowers he had plucked from the earth and tossed beneath her headstone. he had never realized that his parents had so much love for each other— he had simply imagined that their union was due to arrangement, as all seemed to be. apparently that hadn't been the case.

the most pain-staking part had come when enjolras returned to boarding school in january, forsaking his father to loneliness.

when his father asked if he would like to stay at the inn that night for old time's sake, enjolras nodded. he had always despised the inn itself, but he wished to speak to éponine and ask for pardon for what he had said to her. the death of his mother caused him to realize that he could not hold a grudge, because he could be dead by tomorrow, too.

their arrival continued routinely: his father went inside to request a room while enjolras stayed out. he immediately commenced his search for éponine underneath the clear dusk sky, glancing around the corner and wandering down the street for a sign of her. he was eager to apologize and terminate his agony, but he couldn't do that if she was nowhere to be found.

a notion suddenly struck him: perhaps éponine was in the hidden spot she had led him to the year before. she kept all of her belongings and playthings there, so why shouldn't she be?

there she sat, in the hidden enclave with a calm countenance; however, everything seemed as though it was different to him. her hair was not satin-smooth. her dress was not well maintained and her complexion was adorned with bruises and grime. her ever hopeful eyes were saturnine.

"éponine?" his voice was cautious as he peered through the opening.

she glanced up, startled, struggling to comprehend what was transpiring before her. "enjolras? should i be so ill that my imagination betrays me?"

her eyes, wide and wet, flashed fiercely on him. in a one fluid motion, she made a spring to her feet, and he caught her, and they were locked in an embrace from which he thought he would never be released from alive.

"i am so, so sorry," she told him, her chest heaving convulsively as she weeped. "i never imagined i would see you again to apologize for what i said. i feared i would die and you would never know how sorry i am."

"i'm sorry as well," he said, composed in contrast to her. "nothing i said about you was true. i prayed that we would reunite so i could ask your forgiveness."

she nodded against his shoulder. "i forgave you many months ago, even if you would never know i had done so."

"what i said was entirely unforgivable, éponine. i was fully prepared to accept the eventuality that you would not pardon me, but you are absolving me from my guilt— i thank you."

"i was not planning on ever forgiving you," she said, lifting her head. "but when we lost cosette last christmas, everything began to fall to pieces and i realized that i should let bygones be bygones, for my attachment to you is too strong to allow you to slip through my fingers."

"you lost cosette?" he asked, incredulous. "do you mean to tell me that she is dead?"

éponine shook her head. "no, the mayor of montreil sur mer bought her from us."

éponine had no intention of continuing, as it clearly pained her to recall the event, but enjolras was evidently perplexed, so she proceeded with the tale.

"before he arrived, mama had asked cosette to fetch some water from the well in the woods. she was taking quite a while and we were growing displeased, until the mayor appeared at our front door with cosette, and elaborated a dramatic story about how her mother had departed this life, and asked him to take cosette into his keeping! he wouldn't have known just how valuable cosette was to us, and we didn't wish to lose her, but apparently he threatened to kill papa if we didn't hand her over! we were alarmed but refused to be viewed as pushovers, so they bargained and the mayor paid us fifteen hundred francs for her."

éponine had not been present for the bargain: she had only heard the accounts of her parents, suggesting why she believed that the mayor of all people would have threatened to kill her papa. at her age, she was naive enough to believe it.

"i couldn't entirely tell you why the inn began to lose business afterwards. we were fifteen hundred francs richer, so we presumed that this was our sign from god that our lives were improving! however, that was not the case. azelma and i had to sell most of our wardrobe, most of my books, and all of my dolls. we've been struggling, enjolras, and so many times i had faced death and for some peculiar reason, all i could think about was you."

enjolras reached for her hand: it was frigid and limp. it did not seem as though she was attempting to reciprocate the touch.

"i am so sorry, éponine. none of this is in your control and things will surely get better, you know that, right?"

she nodded, her eyes lingering on the ground. "of course. but suppose they don't get better?"

enjolras placed a hand upon her shoulder. "you mustn't have such a thought. if you believe that things will improve, perhaps they will."

éponine subtly dried her tears and sat back down, where she had been reading. the book in question was overused: the pages were creased and torn and the ink was fading to a hardly legible gray. she must have read it constantly for it to endure so much damage.

"pride and prejudice." she had noticed his stare. his features conveyed a combination of surprise and embarrassment. "it's my favorite book. i like stories with romance in them, either amongst the same social class or between upper and lower. i was forced to sell my books but i refused to let mama and papa sell this one. i hide it here so that they will not find it."

"i have heard only positive reviews but i am yet to read it," he admitted.

"oh, then i must read some of it to you!" éponine's eyes illuminated as she quickly turned to the next page.

in an act of pity, enjolras sat down beside of her. her spirits were so low that he knew she could benefit from both the company of a friend and the joy it would provide her. she began to read to him and they proceeded to spend the entire evening together. he listened to éponine read perhaps a dozen chapters before he realized it was growing awfully late and he must return his father before he began to fret: the older man had overprotective tendencies these days that were difficult to become accustomed to.

he thanked her, in much higher spirits than when she had began to read, and as he retreated inside to find his father, he dwelled on the words he had just heard narrated to him. it was truly a remarkable book and he understood why she loved it so much. he should invest in his own copy.

the cord among them had been mended.