YEARS OF DREAMS JUST CAN'T GO WRONG
(A Les Misérables / Norse Mythology
Anastasia AU)
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FREYA REMEMBERS:
There was a time, not very long ago, when men were kind and we Vanir and elves lived in an enchanted world of elegant palaces and grand soirées. The year was 1818, and my brother Frey and sister-in-law Marguerite were the king and queen of the realm of Alfheim.
We were celebrating the 30.000th anniversary of our family ruling.
And that night, no star burned brighter than that of our sweet Anne-Euphrasia... my half-Midgardian only niece so far.
She begged me not to return to Paris. So I had a very special gift made for her by the deftest clockwork smiths in all of Nidavellir, with whom I share something more than a personal connection, to make the separation easier for both of us. It was a musical box, containing figurines of her crowned parents dancing the minuet in one another's arms, and that played her favourite lullaby, which she could play at night before she went to sleep and pretend that it was me singing:
Solskensöga ser på dig,
solskensfamn dig vaggar,
snart blir grönt på skogens stig,
snart var blomma flaggar...
The box could only be opened with a very special lacquered key, on which it was written, in French and in Runic: ENSEMBLE À PARIS.
But we would never be together in Paris, for a dark force would soon descend upon our radiant household, and our realm of light and air where not even twilight had been seen.
From that moment on, influenced no doubt by the violent revolutions that had broken out in Midgard, the spark of unhappiness in our country was fanned into a flame that would soon destroy our lives forever.
So many lives were destroyed when that long night descended. What had always been was now gone forever. And, in the chaos of the retreat, my Anne-Euphrasia, my beloved niece... I never saw her again.
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MARIUS REMEMBERS:
‘I
shall need two dress uniforms and a new pair of riding boots and a uniform hard
hat with a badge and my own pistol... and a double-breasted greatcoat
with wide lapels... and six pairs of white kid gloves...’ Plus, aside from having to be measured for new clothes and boots, the things that were not on the official list but everybody had to have
if they were not to become a laughing stock, like slippers made of
deerskin and silver toothbrush mugs inscribed with the family crest.
At the tailor's, my new attire, my dress tunics, were gradually taking shape.
The fitting took a rather long time because, in
spite of what it said on the prospectus for the college, the
cadets were now wearing the collars of their uniform jackets at least
two centimetres higher than the measures that were indicated in the
prospectus diagram. This annoyed the tailor, who said that such a collar would
scratch the young gentleman’s chin, but a sore chin was regarded at the cadet college as a sign of manhood, even that friction blisters underneath the chin were
regarded as the crowning sign of manhood, and the tailor was overruled
and had to give in.
To train a youth to become a worthy servant of the Crown takes every minute of every day. And the Gillenormands, who reluctantly agreed to pay the fees, were all sore affected by the sight of Yours Truly in his travelling
clothes – the military cape, the peaked cap with the brass insignia of
the college, the little swagger stick that cadets were supposed to carry
so as to get used to handling them when they were commissioned officers –
I had asked that the staff could be assembled in the courtyard so that he could make a proper farewell speech. In spite of my proverbial stage fright, it did well, ere the carriage was brought round and we had driven off.
Within five years I would ride in at the gates and into the courtyard, a freshly-examinated fully commissioned officer, and I would receive from a strong, yet aged hand the keys to my little kingdom. Lieutenant Marius Pontmercy, master of an estate that looked more like an English cottage and a modest fortune, but a fortune nevertheless.
And then, at last, Papa would die content. And Grandpapa would never frown at me, and die content as well. The colonel and the old eccentric, both equally stubborn, had even taken a bet on how long my stay at the cadet college would be. The reputation of both surnames, Pontmercy and Gillenormand, as well as the military tradition of the former and the loyalty to the Crown of the latter, were at stake. No matter who won, the loser would have to pay the price.
How
much I longed to go to a place which sounded like a kind of
prison! Everything was better than living with people who were blood-related to me, yet nevertheless always regarded me at least with contempt. The boys had to sleep forty to a dormitory -where there was enough space for all forty- on iron beds, they marched
everywhere to military commands, and the punishments were awesome. They were obliged to obey their officers and march from dawn to dark, and the punishments were dreadful.
‘Sometimes they handcuff a disobedient boy’s hands to his feet or give him ten lashes.
No, I won't be terrified,
because I won’t be disobedient. I’m going to win the Legion of Honour,
you’ll see. And when I come out I’ll be an officer in a cavalry regiment
with two horses of my own, and if there’s a war I’ll defend the
Fatherland and win that precious accolade.’
The carriage turned into the courtyard; then it stopped and two gentlemen in uniform got out: a captain with a weather-beaten face and the ribbon of a Legion of Honour hanging
in a ribbon from the uniform jacket on his chest, and a young
lieutenant who turned and spoke to a third person, to someone huddled on
the back seat.
The huddled figure straightened itself and stepped out on to the cobbles.
It was Yours Truly.
Not in a cadet's uniform with the pointed cap and the swagger stick and the shiny boots... but in a completely normal cotton-cloth jacket and trousers, with a woollen cap deeply pulled over my forehead. I looked pale and ill and sickly, and turned away from everyone. I was trembling from crown to toe, teetering on the brink of tears. There were dark circles under my eyes, and I was very thin; I stood upright, staring sightlessly at the artificial lake.
‘It is sadly so, but we have had to expel him. Nevertheless
he is quite unsuited to army life. I’m afraid, and it pains me that I
need to say it, that the boy is a coward and a weakling. There will be a
written report from the principal which we will send to you. But there
are absolutely no circumstances under which we would allow him to return
to our establishment.’
Both the officers would say no more and left again without even saying goodbye.
‘I know Colonel Pontmercy,’ said the captain as he climbed into the coach. ‘This would have been a sad day for him.’
The others at school were cruel towards me. When
I first came, one evening already in the beginning, the other cadets pushed me on to the ledge outside the dormitory window and shut me out,
shutting the window behind me. It was very a narrow ledge, and very high
up – three floors. They required that I had to stand there all night
and not make a sound. It was some kind of test . . . an initiation
ritual. But after a few hours I got giddy, all light-headed, and I was
sure, or rather afraid I was going to fall . . . and I called out and
shouted for help, and a teacher came and let me in again. After that
none of the other boys would speak to me. And they used
to amuse themselves by hanging me up from the hooks on the cloakroom
wall and pretend to charge at me, or to stab me, with their bayonets.
I want to go to University here in Paris and study Law and Linguistics, to be a great writer, or translator, or at least a lawyer if I cannot succeed. There have surely never been any translators in any of my dynasties. Then, in that case, I will be the first.
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COSETTE REMEMBERS:
Nightless days,
grand estates,
things I almost remember...
And a tale
they relate,
glowing dim as an ember...
Someone holds me safe and warm,
pegasi cross skies without a storm,
figures dancing gracefully
across my memory...
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Montreuil-sur-Mer is gloomy,
Montreuil sur Mer is bleak...
E'er since the Revolution,
our lives have been so gray...
Thank goodness for the gossip
that gets us through the day!
Have you heard? There's a rumour in Montreuil-sur-Mer...
Have you heard what they're saying on the streets?
Although Van Frey did not survive, one daughter may be still alive...
The princess ANNE-EUPHRASIA...
But please do not repeat!!
It's a rumour, a legend, a mystery...
They say her royal goddess-aunt will pay a royal sum
to someone who can bring the princess back...
We'll find a girl to play the part,
teach her what to say,
dress her up, and take her to Pari-i-is...
Who else could pull it out, but you and me?
We'll be out!
We'll be out!
And Montreuil-sur-Mer will have some more to talk about...!
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Princesses don't marry translators...
MARIUS PONTMERCY
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AKA: That Anastasia AU where Frey married Fantine instead of Gerda; Cosette still is a half-blood and "Felix Tholomyès" is Frey incognito in Parisian society (just like in the Mistborn/Chronicles of Darkness AU), but here Cosette is trueborn and raised at first as royalty at Frey's palace in Alfheim (until the revolution: then raised by the Thénardiers) and amnesiac due to a concussion when falling into Midgard not far from the Sergeant's inn, and her only clue is a key pendant with ENSEMBLE À PARIS written upon it (Éponine taught Cosette to read and write in secret, or at least jogged her memories of being literate, in this AU)... Though downtrodden as an indentured servant at a village inn, Cosette dreams herself away into her sudden visions of a world where night never falls, where the golden air smells like hibiscus tea and each lawn is dotted with flower beds and topiaries; huge estate mansions -Tudor, Loire Valley-style, Rococo, neoclassical- with collections of beautiful objets d'art, pastoral landscapes, winding roads, picturesque creeks, and spongy ground beneath both grass and cobblestone, and nobles that are too tall and fair and bright-eyed, and speak with too aristocratic accents, to be referred to as human... and, first and foremost, someone holding her safe and warm...
Meanwhile, Freya is living in a Left Bank mansion -though ostentatious, a far cry from both Sessrumnir and her Alfheim estate- and waiting for her only hope, but growing weary of alleged nieces after over a decade and a half of pretenders, while Marius and Courfeyrac (well, the latter had the idea, and the former hopes to use it to reconcile with his guardians) are planning a scheme to rear a waif to behave in society and take her to Paris, having just found the perfect dead ringer for Anne-Euphrasia, but unaware that Cosette is the real thing...
Caught in the crossfire between his officer father and right-wing maternal family, expelled from military academy after just one month due to the trauma of the hazing rituals, and now struggling through a university degree and bohemian life while mourning his father and moving away from the dishonoured Gillenormands, Marius is lucky to have a wealthy, extroverted senpai with connections in the publishing business, otherwise he would not have made it through on his own. Their trip up north was merely to send the Thénardiers their regards, and fulfil that deathbed promise to the late Colonel Pontmercy, and also to check out some runestones in the region... but little did he know that his destiny was waiting right around the corner as well...
Ah, and Loki is Rasputin and also Montparnasse, but he barely plays a role in this story... just like in the stage musical. There are elements of the stage musical, indeed, as well as of the Norse offshoot of the Riordanverse, and the pairing is mostly Mariusette, but adding friendly Courfsette scenes...
And there is a switching POV (à la Song of Ice and Fire), mainly of Cosette, Freya, and Marius.
Dead serious, I got the bunny last springtime; maybe I will only do the key scenes and filk the lyrics.
