It was late at night when Cosette opened the front door and looked down at the young boy standing near the doorstep. He couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 years old, and while his dress and hairstyle resembled those of a regular gamin – his clothes were just a little too big, and his hair was a spiky mess – his bearing was that of a military officer, and his speech (as she was soon to find out) was much too sophisticated for him to be any ordinary street rat, if that was in fact what he was.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle," he said politely, his eyes taking in her obvious youth and slight figure, "but may I beg the sanctuary of your home for just a short while? I am being pursued by several men of considerably more, ah, bulk than myself, and -"

He was interrupted by a harsh cry that came from behind him.

"Oi, there 'e is! After 'im!"

Cosette's eyes widened at the sight of the tall, brawny men in the street, and she held the door open. "Quickly, come inside. You can escape out the back."

"No," he said, and his expression hardened. "No, I will not put you in unnecessary danger, mademoiselle," and he turned to face the men, his shoulders thrown back and his chin held high in the face of his approaching doom.

Cosette appreciated his noble sentiment, but she had absolutely no desire to see a young boy, especially one with such good manners, be ripped to pieces by a group of men three times his size.

"Father!" she cried, turning and calling into the house. "Father, come quickly! I need your help!"

She had hardly needed to say anything beyond "Father"; Valjean was at her side more quickly than she might have imagined possible.

"What is it, my dear? Is something wrong?"

"Yes," she said, and pointed out into the dimly lit street at the boy, who was already being set upon by the villainous men that had pursued him. One of the men, upon hearing Cosette's cry into the house for help, had broken away from the immediate group and approached the house. Now he loomed up out of the shadows and made as if to set a heavy hand on Cosette's shoulder. As she shied away in fear, Valjean lashed out with a fist and knocked the man to the ground, where he lay and remained in a quite unconscious state.

"Stay here and lock the door behind me," Valjean told his daughter firmly, and ran out into the street. In just a few minutes, the three men surrounding the boy had been dispatched – one lay unconscious on the ground like the first Valjean had dealt with, while the other two took off down the street, taking their fear for their lives and several substantial bruises with them. Then the ex-convict turned his attention to the young boy who was now lying in the middle of the street. One hand was pressed against his side, but it was doing nothing to stop the rather obvious flow of blood issuing from what appeared to be a rather deep cut just underneath his ribs. As Valjean knelt by his side in order to pick him up, a flash of worry shot through him at the fact that the boy wasn't making a sound, apart from his rather labored breathing.

"It's alright. I've got you now. You're not going to get hurt," Valjean murmured, and was startled when the boy cringed away from his touch, muttering something between clenched teeth about not needing his pity.

"You may not need my pity, but you do need my help," the man informed him.

"No…I'm fine…" The boy tried to struggle to his feet and finally let out an involuntary yelp of pain, falling back towards the ground as he did so. Valjean caught him and picked him up effortlessly.

"Noooo," the boy moaned, squirming weakly in his grip. "Don't…want your help…24…246…"

And then he passed out. Valjean had not heard the last part of his anguished speech, due to the fact that he had been issuing instructions to Cosette as to how to take care of the boy while he went to fetch a doctor.

Cosette nodded when he was finished, her eyes right with determination. "But, Father," she said as he turned to leave, "what will I do if those men come back?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "They won't," he said finally, and then he was gone.

A3: Alright, so here's the deal. This is an AU fic, which means that I don't have to deal with the other characters or follow the storyline if I don't want to. This makes me very happy. :) So, anyway, Valjean's age is undetermined. The Valjean in my head is not really old, but on the other hand, nor is he particularly young, so he's like…42. Maybe. Cosette is around 16-17. I just wanted to clear that up – for the readers and myself.

Julian: Oi, why I am helping you with the authoressial notes here?

A3: Because you have a lightsaber, and can therefore protect me from rampaging fans, revolutionaries, and angry characters.

Julian: Oh. And you…have problems with that sort of thing?

A3: (Deadly serious tone of voice) All the time. (Turns to readers) Drop a review, won't you? This is the result of an idea I've had brewing in my head for quite a while and I'd like to know what people think about it.

Julian: Wait a minute. YOU have a lightsaber, too! A double-bladed one!

A3: Yeah, well, that's not the point. You know the old adage, "Come for the action, stay for the eye candy."

Julian: I've never, EVER heard that.

Erik: (Pops up out of nowhere) Basically, it means she wants to ensure that people read her story by including you, a pretty Elf boy, in the end authoressial notes.

Julian: (Expression of horror)

A3: (Aside) Thanks a lot, Erik. (To Julian) Don't worry! I won't let them get you! I will protect your Jedi Knight innocence! They can look, but they can't touch! That's the policy!

Julian: (Staggers off)

A3: Ack!! …JULIAN! COME BACK! I'M SORRYYYYYYYY!