A/N: This is not historically accurate but I tried to fit in everything I learned about France and its setting in Les Mis in. If there are somethings I've missed or somethings that need correcting, please feel free to message me :)) Otherwise please comment away! Good or bad, it doesn't matter as long as it's honest. :))
Empty Chairs
Chapter I.
The Café Musain was a cosy Café down by Rue Saint Dennis. It had been almost 6 years since Enjolras left for boarding school and had not visited this place. The Café stood solitary at the end of a bottle-shaped street, surrounded by other buildings. It was only a quaint little building with four floors, with chipped-off paint and a warm glow. Due to its almost isolated location (for it was not quite an easy feat to find the street), not many were aware of it and its business; a Café and restaurant by daylight and a bar by night.
He had not remembered this Café until months ago when they were having difficulty looking for a quiet place to study and discuss. They had been walking when he chanced on a seemingly familiar alley. Joly and Combeferre had stopped to wait for him as he inspected it. He took a step into the alley and turned to them. "My friends, I know where we can go," he had said, smiling. They had not doubted him and they had followed. Once they got to the entrance of the tiny square the Café stood in the centre of, Enjolras could not help but break a smile.
Ever since he found the Café Musain 3 months ago, he and his group of friends had started frequenting it, deeming it a very acceptable place to study or to get away from other raucous students. To Enjolras himself, the Café was an ideal location for discussions of politics and revolution. At the moment though, they were gathered to discuss their upcoming exams. But that priority was immediately exiled by merriment and food. He watched his friends bicker and guffaw around with each other, smirking at them himself, when someone else caught his eye and his smirk momentarily faltered.
She was a head shorter than he was and she was a waitress. Granted her family did own the Café. She was fair-skinned, made fairer by her wild dark hair, which fell almost to her waist. Her back was to him now but he knew just what she looked like. Or rather, he remembered what she looked like. Her face was soft despite her slightly prominent jaw, with a slender, slightly up-turned nose and pink lips. Her eyes were an alluring blue where its shade was emphasized by her fair complexion and her dark hair.
Her name was Margot and he had known her since she was 10. The year was 1820. As children, they had fought a lot. As adults, even though he had not seen her or heard from her for almost 6 years, he is pleasantly surprised that they fought still, if not even more. One would think, his late father for instance, that their reunion after 6 years would have been a merry (and rather, mature) one. It was anything but.
His father and her father, the owner of the Café Musain, had known each other for a long time. They were long time business partners and his father often went to the Café, once it was set up, with him tagging along. While their fathers discussed their plans, Enjolras had relied on the boys on the street to play with, while Margot tagged along. Thinking about it now, at 20 and seeing her again for the first time in years, he smirked inwardly, watching her wait on other guests and carrying her father's orders. She had never liked being left behind.
Back then his parents had visited the Café almost daily, eating and chatting with her parents. When there were no kids to play around in that particular street in the Rue Saint Denis, they relied on each other for company. He was already a keen and serious boy then, but those were days of mischief (though everything he did he did for the sake of acquiring new knowledge). She was his curious friend with the dark hair and startling blue eyes.
Margot was the type of girl who could not resist joining something she wasn't allowed to join. A passionately curious girl. And a rebel at that. She was an honest girl too, though sometimes almost completely tactless. It was in her honesty and her curiosity combined that she can be deemed to be slightly ignorant. She was the type of person that strongly believed that she was put in to this world solely to discover, to learn and to use whatever knowledge she can gather for the benefit of the people around her. A slight misuse of manners and etiquette (or the guilt for having done so) would not hinder her acquisition for truth.
Great was her passion for things, so too was her temper. Syllogistically, great then was her fury, if it does ever come to that. Enjolras was sure that, like many that come in time with age, her temper was anything of that when she was 14. And he currently was not so curious to find out, lest they lose their newfound meeting-place.
Naturally, during the first times after their first meeting, he did not like being followed and unsurprisingly she irritated him, which was why he often resorted to turning her away (with more or less contemptuous statements). The first time he had told her off, he was surprised she didn't cry. He was even caught more off-guard when she frowned at him and retaliated. And their bickering and insulting would continue until one or the other stormed off, embarrassed and angry. He won some, he lost some.
Despite the fact that they fought almost all the time, he had trusted her then as sometimes, she was the mastermind of the mischief they pulled off together. He may have been the brains of most of their operations but she was the driving force, the courage, the challenger that put the plans in motion. Her excitement had made playing with her all the more fun. He envied her a bit for that; having been raised to be proper and decent, he was limited by his family's social status to be completely without thought for repercussion. He knew that being around her challenged these limitations and he could be exactly who he wanted to be.
Paris in the year 1820 was as turbulent as the years before that and the years after. Napoleon, a hero for the people, the poor who could no longer keep up with the demands of a society ruled by a monarchy, was defeated a good 5 years ago and France was once again replaced by the Bourbon king, Louis XVIII. Fresh out of the French Revolution and Napoleon's reign, France was stirred with civil discord. The masses have had a taste of the radical point of view; nothing was ever going to be the same, despite being under the same monarch before Napoleon. Suspicion amongst the people, of both high and low parties, of those participating in secret associations (with no less a kind of purpose like rebellion) was a fast-spreading disease, especially in Paris.
The law, and the militant forces at that, became more unrelenting and it was almost daily that someone from somewhere was accused for hiding this and that under the pretence of revolution. The law may have changed, high and middle society as well. But the poor did not. The dregs of society still suffered and they were increasing by the multitude. Enjolras and his father were witnesses to this and the unjust treatment they were getting. It was for the voiceless that Enjolras' father joined such secret associations.
His father held many meetings in the Café Musain (it was not surprising that Margot's father joined as well, having lived the hardships) and Enjolras would quietly listen to the discussions while Margot finished her shifts helping around the Café. He had thought his father noble and had respected him more for wanting to take a stand for the impoverished.
"The state of France rests on her people," he once said to nobody in particular while he accompanied Margot to buy fruits. They were 14 and he still listened to his father speak in these meetings. She looked up from her basket and looked straight at his eyes. She was interested, he could tell. "How so?" she asked. "Do you mean the Aristocrats or the Bourgeoisie?" She smiled knowingly at his look of surprise.
"You've been reading my books," he said, slightly mystified. She rolled her eyes.
"It doesn't help that you always forget them when you come to the Café." She struck his hand where he tried to reach for an apple from her basket. "Tell me what you meant."
They started making their way back to the Café. He scoffed at her earlier remark about the Aristocrats and the Bourgeoisie, which she frowned at. "The rich will not give a sou for the poor now, what makes you think they will later," he said, eyeing, with contempt, a middle-class group of girls giggling before disappearing into a shop. "The middle class are too busy trying to escape poverty themselves and they will not do a thing to jeopardize that." He saw her listening to him intently. "The government is doing nothing," he continued. "Someone else must stand."
"There are people who stand, Enjolras," she said. "Your father's one of them."
He looked at her, understanding her point. But he frowned and dug his hands into his pockets. "I don't approve completely what my father is doing," he said. He saw that she was about to start arguing about the sacrifices his father was making and immediately continued to his point.
"I know that he is brave for joini—"
"SHH!" she hissed at him, looking around before whacking him on the head.
"OW!" he cried. "That was not necessary, Margot!" She heard his irritation stressed in how he said name.
"Are you an idiot?" She whispered exasperatedly at him. She looked around again and made sure that nobody heard anything. She then turned to him, matching his look of frustration. "Be careful next time," she said. "Your father's not the only one at stake here," she added quietly, blue-eyes angrily flashing red.
He was about to retort but he noticed how sincerely worried she was for their fathers. He didn't blame her. The city was rank with distrust and easy pickings. There was always a reward for reports of insurgence and revolt. Just being assumed to have joined an association is already dangerous. He sighed exasperatedly and looked away from her crossly, not wanting to admit the foolish mistake he almost made. They walked on, the Café finally coming to view.
"Anyway," she said, still a bit angry at him. "You were saying?"
He peered at her and it was evident from her slightly red cheeks that she was still interested, if not a little begrudgingly so. And he smirked mischievously but he continued. "France no longer needs secrets," he said. "They need a voice. Someone out of hiding to speak to the so-called leaders about the plight of the people." Margot noted the disgust in the way he said "leaders".
"Like General Lamarque," she added. She did not meet his look of bewilderment.
"...Exactly," he said. Just how much had she picked up from the meetings, he had thought then. It's not like she's listening... Or was she? "Yes, exactly. Someone like the General."
He watched her process the information, a hand pushing a strand of dark hair behind an ear. "You're looking for a charismatic leader," she concluded. "Someone... who can inspire..." She looked up at him, her face contorted into that of pure thought while she connected the dots. He watched her eyes widen as she came to realization. The same realization he came to before they began this whole conversation. He smiled at her, waiting for her to smile back, to share the joy of his epiphany. But the smile never came. He was more than baffled when she frowned and, with a frustrated sigh, said "You are an idiot."
He had felt his face heating up in anger. "Where did I go wrong?" he asked her calmly, willing himself to cool his head. "It makes perfect sense. It is not an individual who must rise against a king." She said nothing but simply walked briskly on, which only fueled his impatience and irritation.
"It must be a collective!" he said, taking her arm and forcing her to look at him. "A leader, no matter how good he can be cannot do it alone. The people too must rise!"
"I never said you were wrong!" she had snapped at him. "Then why are you angry?" He retorted back at her. Blue flashed with red. For a while her eyes were a shade of purple with red flecks. "If you don't understand, then I'm not saying it," she said angrily. She harshly pulled her arm out of his grasp and marched her way towards the door of the Café.
Angry at her and at himself for not being able to understand what she meant, he had taken out his aggravation on a little pebble before marching back into the Café, hands in pockets and red-faced. His father had looked at him and had looked over to M. Musain, who seemed to be dealing with a very cross Margot. M. Musain looked back and the men laughed, to the heightened annoyance of the children. Still laughing, Enjolras' father clapped him on the shoulder and stated that he bid the other gentlemen good evening for they were leaving.
Knowing his manners, Enjolras offered them a small polite smile and bowed before bidding his adieu. His father followed suit and they made way for the door. He glanced crossly at Margot, testing to see if she would bid him goodbye and that maybe they could salvage what's left of the day in good terms, but she merely looked away, still mad. He grumbled in annoyance and, with an impatient sigh, went out the door, his father right behind him.
Had he known that that was the last time he would see her, he would have done something to make amends, regardless of what he had felt about the matter.
Tragedy had struck as quick as lightning a few days after their last meeting. He had finished his studies for that day and had wondered into the library where his father was working. He had just started to read a book when one of the maidservants brought in a letter. He watched his father good-naturedly chatted with the maid before taking the letter and opening. The smile had disappeared in a flash and a look of panic spread on his features. Enjolras was about to ask him what was wrong when his father abruptly went out the door to look for his wife. Enjolras had followed them and was brought upstairs to his parents' bedroom, where he could hear his parents arguing inside. He could not make out what they were saying but just as he was about to knock, his father opened the door. Enjolras had heard his mother crying then.
Finding his son exactly where he needed him, he knelt down and put both hands on Enjolras' shoulders. Enjolras could tell that whatever wrong was happening involved his father and the secret association. He braced himself and hoped that he was wrong as he waited for his father to speak.
"Enjolras," his father said calmly. "I'm going to the Café now and I will be back. By the time I arrive, I want you to be ready with all your clothes and your most precious things packed, all right?" Enjolras nodded, still hoping, still keeping faith. He waited for his father to say more. The older man nodded and ran a hand on his son's golden curls. "If..," he started and Enjolras could feel the strain in his father's voice. "If I am late, I will send word to you and your mother. Is that understood?" Enjolras nodded once again. He could still hear his mother sobbing inside the room. His father must've noticed his shift of attention for he glanced at her for a moment before his attention returned to his son. "Everything will be alright, Enjolras," he said, smiling at him. "Keep the faith."
The older man moved to get off his knees to start getting ready to leave, when Enjolras spoke. Despite knowing the answer, he asked anyway. "Can I come with you to the Café?" His father smiled and patted him on the head. "No, my son. You stay here and take care of your mother." With that, Enjolras watched his father's retreating form head for library to get his coat and the letter and head out the door. Enjolras kept to his faith.
It was not until midnight, if he recalled correctly, until they heard a knock on the door. Enjolras was in his mother's bedroom, keeping her company, once he finished everything his father had told him to do. He read while she sewed. Upon hearing the knock, his mother had immediately jumped out of her seat, practically throwing all her sewing materials on the floor as she ran out of the bedroom to get the door herself. The butler and the maidservant were already there. Enjolras had run towards the balcony overlooking the foyer to see what has happened.
His mother opened the door and upon seeing the messenger, she fainted instantly into the butler's and maidservant's arms. The messenger was one of the gentlemen they had met the other night and he was visibly shaken and terrified. Just from seeing the man, Enjolras immediately knew what had happened and what was going to happen. He remembered that he had felt like he was suffocating, like he wanted to scream but he could not because he knew in the back of his mind, that if he were able to, no one would hear him. His father certainly won't.
He went down the stairs slowly, while the butler carried his mother into the drawing room to lay her on one of the couches. The maidservant had taken it upon herself welcome the guest in. Seeing him, the maidservant smiled sadly at Enjolras and had told him to head on upstairs to catch a little sleep. He meekly nodded as he watched her shuffle the gentleman inside the drawing room. Before he left for upstairs, however, the gentleman caught him by the shoulder and looked at him as if to search his eyes. "Enjolras," he said. "Your father was one of the bravest men I have ever met. You should be very proud of him. What he has sacrificed to do for France will undoubtedly continue. You have my word for that."
He gave Enjolras a clap on his shoulder, as if he was giving him some sort of award and for a while, Enjolras felt the rage he did not know was inside him bubble to the surface. His eyes had stung with tears he did not know had formed before he roughly pulled himself away from the gentleman and ran to his room. He remembered that he had destroyed everything in his room he had gotten his hands on that night. He agreed with the gentleman, as he leaned against the door, spent, tear-stained and angry, that his father's love and dedication for the country would not go to waste. That he, Enjolras himself will bring glory and freedom to France. That was the night he vowed that the monarchy will pay for what they have robbed from the people of France and for what they have robbed from him.
He had cried himself to sleep that night, in his destroyed bedroom when a fleeting thought jolted him awake once more. Margot. Instantly, he opened the door with a crash, yelling for his mother, for the butler, the maidservant, for whoever came first. The butler did and he was all about and quite shaken by Enjolras. "I have to go to the Café, Francois!" He had cried to the butler, shaking him frantically. "Margot and Monsieur Musain are still there! Francois, you have to take me! They might be in trouble!" The butler had to hold Enjolras' arms to stop him from shaking him. "Master Enjolras!" He called out to calm him. "Margot might by hurt, Francois!" He cried back, unrelenting.
"Master Enjolras! Miss Margot and Monsieur Musain are alright!" The butler had to practically howl the news to him. It must have taken him a while to process that information for the butler had to repeat it to him. "They're alright, master. That gentleman reassured us and Madame," he said. Enjolras had gone quiet and still, before letting out a long sigh of relief. "Alright, then, Francois," was all he managed to say. "Thank you." It was good that the butler had more sense than to leave him alone, for he had contemplated on going to Rue Saint Dennis that night just to make sure. The butler had accompanied him to his broken room and, despite the shock he felt at the state of his room, sat by him until Enjolras finally fell asleep.
The next day, he discovered that he was to be shipped off to boarding school that very day while his mother was to vacate to Versailles until things quieted down for their family. He had disagreed vehemently at the news, which was a rare occurrence to see from him. He had angrily demanded for the driver and the carriage to be brought to him to take him to the Café. The butler and the maidservant were at a loss as to what to do with him. He had brought with him a colossal fit and he had lashed out at everyone in close proximity. It was his mother who had calmed him down in the end and who had told him that it was far safer for him and for Margot that he did not see them right now. He remembered the vow he made the night before and thought of the greater good. That the fight his father fought was for people like Margot. And that the fight was his now and that it would be better if he readied himself quickly for it. Hesitantly, uncertainly, he had decided to go to boarding school and be away from Paris until he could give it its liberty.