Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis or any characters, or the dialogue in this story. They belong to a dead guy named Victor Hugo.
Okay, this was just a very, very, very, very, very, very, very short one-shot I made because I was in a Les Mis funk. And because I think Grantaire and Enjolras are cool. Also because I was reading the book and I came upon the scene where they died, and I thought it would be cool to write what went through Grantaire's mind before he and Apollo were killed. So this is it. The dialogue is taken from the book. This is non-slash. It isn't great, but I hope you enjoy it. Please rr!
Grantaire awoke from his table, surrounded by glasses, mugs, and bottles. The thing that had awoken him was not the noise. The noise was gone now. It had been the silence that had woken him. He had slept through the musket fire, the firing cannon, and all the other noise of the battlefield. But now he was awake. He stood up. He was in the corner of one of the rooms in the wine shop. On the other side of the room a group of soldiers stood, surrounding a man, guns raised. With a start he realized that the man was Apollo. All the soldiers' attention was focused on Enjolras, and they didn't even notice him. Their sergeant ordered, "Take aim!" It was at this moment that Grantaire called out, in a powerful voice entirely different than his own, "Vive la Republique! Count me in." He walked over to his Apollo, steadily and determinedly; leaving no trace that he had been "dead drunk" for hours, indistinguishable from the dead around him. He repeated "Vive la Republique!" and took his place next to Enjolras. "Two at one shot," Grantaire said. He turned to Enjolras. "Will you permit it?" Enjolras smiled and shook his hand. Grantaire felt that, even though they were about to die, he was truly happy. His idol did not hate him. His Apollo had forgiven all the sarcastic remarks, the drinking. He had even forgiven Grantaire for being passed out drunk in their moment of need. All Grantaire cared about that he was here, standing next to Enjolras, whom he had always looked up to, about to die with his idol. And his idol was smiling at him. Enjolras' blonde hair was dirty from the fighting, but his blue eyes held all the flame they always had. Neither one of them cared about dying anymore. The smile had not even died on his Apollo's face when the gun's report was heard. Eight bullets tore into his Apollo's chest. Grantaire did not know how many struck him. The last things his eyes saw before his soul departed was that even though Grantaire had fallen at his idol's feet, Enjolras was still standing, head tilted. His beautiful face, like marble, still the same. But the flame was gone from his eyes, and he was dead.
And so Grantaire died, at the feet of his earthly god, Enjolras.
Just a sad little thing I wrote in a few minutes. Oh well. Thank you to Cecilia Carlton for pointing it out that it's Enjolras in a kind way. So now this is the revised version so I can get it right. Thanks to all the kind people that reviewed! I kinda liked how it turned out. Anyway, please review! Hope you enjoyed it.