He goes to the meeting expecting nothing. A tagalong, enticed more by the promise of strong spirits than conversations of enlightenment. He knows what to expect from these meetings- rowdy boys shouting for the downfall of the government, somehow believing they can change the world for the better - but Grantaire knows enough about the world to label them fools. Those first few times, he'll blame the alcohol for making him follow Courfeyrac into the Musain; he will blame the warmth for making him stay.
A simple truth about Grantaire: He has never been one for politics. Apathy is often said to be his vice, and he accepts that with a shrug of his shoulders and a smile. No one really understands why he's there, least of all himself, but he's good for a laugh, so they leave it at that. Grantaire, however, will keep questioning himself until he spots Enjolras from across the room.
Enjolras, who speaks of freedom and equality, of a government renewed, of change. Enjolras, who is arrogant and charming and beautiful (and doomed). Grantaire doesn't know if he should envy or pity the confidence in his voice- this young revolutionary. The ways of the world will show him, and Grantaire resolves to be there when it does.
The corner is dark and warm, and the alcohol has made him complacent. Grantaire is not aware enough to admit why he stays (not yet). The shouting is over, and the speech is done, but he remains rooted to his chair. Like many in the café, he watches Enjolras walk around the room offering words of encouragement and hope to those that have stayed. Grantaire sees through the smile. He knows it offers promises that may be too difficult to keep. Still, they flock to him and his message. Worse yet – they believe.
Enjolras continues walking about the room until he stops just short of Grantaire. He looks from the drink, to the top of his unruly black hair – observing and criticizing, no doubt. "Your drink captivated you more than our cause," this man – this boy, says to him. His words are light, but his eyes are hard. "Maybe if you cleared your head, you would see the truths that I have spoken this night." It is a challenge, as everything between them will become.
Grantaire picks up his bottle. He can face the world- can face this youth -with a bottle held loosely in his fingers. "I fear there is more truth in drink than in your speech." He takes a sip, as if to make a point. It's lost on the younger man, but his message isn't.
"We need people to stand with us, not dissect our ideals. Perhaps there is another location that will suit you better. "
Grantaire shrugs his shoulders. "I find this more than suitable." It's not a lie. Eventually, he'll be incapable of lying to the man in front of him. "I don't object to your meeting, but should someone seek out reason, I'll be sure to give it to them." He offers an easy shrug of his shoulder.
Enjolras takes the bait, he always will. "Everyone here has what they need- Enlightenment. They see that France is in need of change, and we are the ones who will bring it."
Grantaire could have answered many ways: You are young. You speak of a beautiful world, but an impossible one. If he were facing any other man, he would have. He finds that he doesn't want to tame Enjolras' fire, so he answers: "You are not the first to utter those words." France is a fickle mistress and Enjolras is not the first to be seduced. If he sounds sad, he doesn't mean to.
"We can only hope that we will be the last." Enjolras smiles at Grantaire, it's one of the few he will ever spare him.
Grantaire finds himself hoping that Enjolras will be the last one to utter those words. So he picks up his bottle and says, "To the revolution." He doesn't mean it, but he'll drink to this man.
(This is the beginning of the end)
::
Somehow, Grantaire integrates himself into the cause. It's natural enough. He'll often find himself questioning why he stays in the beginning. Justifications come just as easily as questions. It passes the time. He likes to debate. Even if he doesn't agree with the cause, the members of Les Amis are intellectual enough, and give a good debate. One day, Grantaire will realize that he's actually engaged by their conversations- their passion. These people make him think, reflect, self-analyze. It's almost enough to keep him from coming to the meetings altogether.
As it happens, he doesn't avoid the Musain. Instead, he finds himself going to rallies and telling people about the cause – well, he'll mention Enjolras, and that's what matters. Courfeyrac smiles at him and tells him it's good to see him involved in something. There are denials – steadfast and loud. Grantaire will say that he comes because he has nothing better to do with his time, which is true, at least in part. Maybe he'll mutter something about the members or the proximity of the Musain to his quarters, but he won't mention how his thoughts drift back to their stoic leader and his intensity.
He doesn't fully understand the impact this group – this young revolutionary – will have on his life, and when he does, it will be too late. But the hints are beginning to appear. He leaves behind the acquaintances he once shared wine and gambled with; trading them easily for people he would have scoffed at just years prior.
With time, he'll come to realize that when he cheers with the crowd, he's not cheering at the declarations of social equality or for the breakdown of social barriers. The cause has always (will always) stay in the background of his mind. He finds himself cheering for the man standing on the scaffolding. He still doesn't agree with what Enjolras is fighting for, but he suddenly wants to be proved wrong.
(He doesn't question why the students flocked around Enjolras. He doesn't doubt that the crowds will flock, either. What he does doubt, is if the crowds will stay once the talking is over)
::
A fact that Enjolras will never understand: Grantaire doesn't question him to be a pest, he challenges Enjolras to make his convictions stronger. He pushes the young man to watch him harden. Grantaire will never be a passionate man, but he can feed the passion in Enjolras. The drunkard doesn't have much to give, but he can give the group validity, even if it means taking the brunt of their frustrations.
Grantaire watches the crowds grow, and can't recall when strange faces became familiar. People are listening. This is the first time that he'll realize the potential of these students. It frightens him, but not enough to keep him away. Let them preach to bigger crowds and spread their message to more districts.
Enjolras begins assigning tasks as the movement grows, but Grantaire's role remains the same. It's easy enough to convince himself that he likes it in the background, and maybe he did in the beginning. But maybe he wants to be just a little bit more than himself. To accomplish something and be praised instead of being put down and overlooked. A large( and influential) part of his mind tells him not overstep himself. It's true that Enjolras needs people around him, but it appears as those men have already been chosen. The rejection should be enough to keep Grantaire from trying, but it's not. It never will be.
"He doesn't think I'm useful," Grantaire says to Courfeyrac. It's a fact.
Courfeyrac doesn't insult him by pretending otherwise, but he softens the blow. "Your time may come yet." The warmth of his hand brings some comfort to Grantiare. "For now drink and be merry. We may not have time to do so in the future."
There is an edge to his voice that Grantaire dismisses. Why think about the future when the present is real and as biting as the wind that stings their cheeks. They walk with quick steps away from the Musain, huddled in their jackets. Should the wrong ears hear of what is taking place in the small cafe, it would be overrun with national guardsmen. The map of the Old Republic would be stripped down and lists of government officials, rally locations, and future tactics would be confiscated and likely burned.
Grantaire wonders how many of the members thought it would come to this. There, in the quiet café, were the first signs of revolution. There was no more room for boys to sit and talk about a perfect world. Enjolras was calling them to action. Grantaire briefly wonders how many of them understand of the sacrifice that is being asked, but he thinks he knows the answer (even if he's still unsure of his own).
::
The truth about the pair: Enjolras will never have need of Grantaire. Not until the very end.
(It will be a small comfort, but will mean the world to an artist who will never get the chance to paint something beautiful).
Enjolras will give Grantaire a chance, and Grantaire will fail him. It's not a feeling Grantaire is unaccustomed to, but this time, it will hurt. He won't get a chance to make it up until he wakes to the smell of gunpowder and blood.
Grantaire will never fully understand what he seeks from Enjolras until that moment. He isn't ready to realize until he asks: Do you permit? In that moment, he will realize that he has never felt more sure of himself and it will be enough.
(Finish both of us at one blow)
::
The world is wet and dreary and dark. Grantaire rubs at his temple with heavy hands. Maybe he shouldn't have reached for the last ale, but Joly insisted, and Grantaire has never been particularly good at ignoring his cravings. They were celebrating the acquisition of arms which cemented their intent more than words or rallies ever could. It was the transition between words and revolution.
"And now we play in earnest." Grantaire said to no one in particular. He counted and recounted the firearms. Not enough to start a revolution, but there would be more. Ammunition would follow, and then strategies for battle. He tried to recall a time when their meetings were simple and small. How quickly they had come to this.
He remembers a quiet tension. If there was ever any doubt over the group's intentions, it disappeared with iron and steel. The Friends took turns holding the guns, awkward and misplaced in their hands. It took more than weapons to win a revolution. It took more than sacrifice to make a change.
He remembers cold eyes and a frustrated sigh. "This has never been a game, Grantaire," Enjolras said. But how could it be anything but? "Maybe now you will see and leave." He looked at the young men gathered about him. "That goes for anyone unwilling to stand with us at the end."
Grantaire would do anything Enjolras commanded, except leave. "I would stay," Grantaire said. He took a step forward but the harsh look from their leader stopped him.
"There is nothing for you here, Grantaire." Their eyes met and lingered
Grantaire licks his lips, determined. No, he wasn't like the others. He didn't have Courfeyrac's warmth, or Combeferre's wisdom; he had nothing to offer Enjolras but himself, surely that had to count for something. "Everything for me is here." He started coming to the meetings expecting nothing, now everything that mattered stood before him.
Enjorlas threw a blanket over the weapons. He glanced behind him, to the main room of the café, and smiled. "Ah, yes, your precious bottles. Perhaps someone can buy you one when they are finished with their task for the revolution."
Grantaire dragged his hand away from the table. "Do not mock me," he said but it was lost to Enjolras instructing Feuilly and Jean to hide the weapons.
He remembers the feeling of defeat and walking away from the table. He remembers looking at the men surrounding Enjolras and thinking that he didn't belong, but he was there, and he remains today. He knows that he is inconsequential – a hindrance – so why should it matter what damage he does to his own body? Still, he curses himself when he reaches for the bottle.
::
It occurs to Grantaire that Enjolras has never asked him why he stays. Between telling him he's no good for the cause and hinting that he should leave, Enjolras has never stopped to think about why Grantaire ignores the insults and returns. Perhaps it should be something Grantaire takes to heart, but he knows his leader and knows there is little room in his life for reflections about a man not throwing himself at the cause.
Some (though few and admittedly, fanciful) days, Grantaire entertains the idea of Enjolras thinking about his presence. He will tell himself that Enjolras doesn't ask because he simply isn't prepared to hear the answer, which is well and good, because Grantaire isn't prepared to answer the question – least of all to the object of his confusion.
Maybe it's a blessing that both men leave it be.
Later, if Enjolras ever asked, Grantaire might have said: because you deserve the recognition of the people. Because I admire you, and your passion. Because if you are wrong, that means I've been right and this world really is an awful place and nothing will change that. Because you are everything I cannot – will not- be. I stay because of you. He would leave out the important bits, even at the end. Because I don't know how to be – would not be- without you.
Grantaire was fine before Enjolras, but now he will be a little less than himself should they be parted. It's the truth that will bring him back to the barricade. It will see him rise and say: Long live the Republic. I'm one of them, too. And perhaps that truth can extent to Enjolras, as the young revolutionary will reach for the drunk's hand just seconds before the end.
And maybe Grantaire should feel a little embarrassed about how much Enjolras means to him – this man who doesn't spare him a glance on most days. The other students make jokes and tell him that's waiting his time. There are other ways to help the revolution, they say, let him be. Perhaps Grantaire would have argued if he could find the right words. Instead, he lets them drag him to the bar – at least he was good at that.
He knows that Enjolras is untouchable, tempted only by the idea of Patria. (Grantaire will come to doubt this, but he'll only have a second). He is never greater than when he is addressing the masses. There is no Enjolras without revolution. Grantaire could not – would not- take that away from him. And maybe he should be thankful that there isn't room in his Apollo's life for anything but France.
(A small truth: if Enjolras ever gave Grantaire the attention he wanted, he wouldn't know how to handle it.
It's better this way).
::
Grantaire doesn't sleep at night. It's one of the first things that made him reach for a bottle. He remembers sleepless nights during university, mind running through theories and inquires, connecting and dissecting philosophies and human nature. He has read the tragedies and studied human nature. He read of Socrates's death, but a death with meaning is still a death. He imagines reading about Enjolras or Marius- how many would linger upon their names? How many would care about their deaths?
He decides it's a thought better saved for another night as he leaves the top floor of the Musain. The café is quiet, with only the crackling of a fire in the background. He's not surprised to find Enjolras still awake. Sleepless nights are one thing he shares with his leader. They have often sat in the café together long after the students wandered back to their quarters. Enjolras would sit next to the fire, or hunch over papers that Grantaire would guess at. That one was an inventory of weapons, that one a list of places to assemble. Grantaire would sit with his head on the table, not sleeping, but not particularly fond of moving either.
Even without the pretense of revolution, Enjolras holds his back straight, shoulders high with purpose. Sometimes, Grantaire wonders what it would be like to see those shoulders drop, to hear him laugh over a pint, but the image is fleeting.
Grantaire leans against a splintered beam and stays there for a few minutes before he addresses Enjolras. "The hour is late." He knows he shouldn't speak. This only works when he doesn't speak. But he's never been good at listening to anyone, particularly himself. "I'm sure plotting the overthrow of the government can wait until morning."
Enjolras almost turns his head in Grantaire's direction, but looks back to the fire instead. The flames cast shadows upon his face, changing and growing. "There is much to do and little time to do it in." He leans back in his chair. "Surely even you can see that."
Grantaire expects that, but it still stings. "Yes, even I can see that." It's a lazy response. His submission doesn't last long. "But I know of limits and not driving myself to the brink of exhaustion." It's meant to be light, but falls flat in the silence.
Enjolras shook his head. "You know of nothing, Grantaire." Grantaire knows of late nights and later mornings. He will not deny staying in bed longer than he should. But he also knows that these boys need their leader for the revolution to flourish. No good will come from exhaustion. Enjolras rubs his head with his hands. "That was - I believe I'll retire for the night. You should, as well." He puts a hand on Grantaire's table as he retreats.
Grantaire isn't sure what seizes him at that moment. "If only you would ask, I would do anything for the cause." He means it.
Enjorlas takes a deep breath "I would have you, if only you were clear eyed and sober." His voice is subdued. For a moment, it looks as though he is going to say more, but closes his mouth.
Grantaire knows how to read between the lines, and maybe, he's starting to understand the rejections. "You would not have me at all." He offers Enjolras a sad smile.
Enjolras shakes his head and in that second, Grantaire swears he can see the weight of the world upon their leader's shoulders. "Try to sleep, Grantaire."
::
Grantaire knows the world, and knows what happens to people that get too loud. Enjolras counters by saying that the ruling class needs to hear, they need to be frightened of the people. If they had more time, maybe Grantaire would have tried to sit Enjolras down and ask him about this childhood – his family – his life. Somewhere within him is a story of a young boy that came to hate his class. It's a story Grantaire will never get to hear.
"It doesn't matter if it works or not, what matters is that we say it. Was it Courfeyrac or Jean who uttered those faithful words? But what good are words if the world forgets, the world moves on, the world stays the same. Would that he had half the courage of these men, maybe that would have made him a better man.
He's not some fool that thinks of the glory of their victory. He knows how their story will end (away from him, he thinks Enjolras is beginning to understand, too). Does he have it in himself to see this through until the end?
(He knows the answer, and it frightens him)
::
Gavroche brings the news that signs the fate of boys who will never grow to be men. General Lamarque is dead. It's an inevitable truth, and a harsh one. The funeral will be held in four days, and then-well.
Grantaire doesn't want to die. Honesty, sharp like the National Guardsmen's bayonets. If he thinks about his life, he hasn't done much he's particularly proud of. He's certainly never done anything he will be remembered for. Somehow, that matters now (even if he doesn't understand the rational, he knows it has everything to do with Enjolras). He takes a breath and wonders if he's really shaking.
There's a full moon, only partly covered by clouds. The patron of the small café takes a seat next to Grantaire. There's something relaxing in the way he drapes an arm around the back of the chair next to him. He feels safe here; content. Grantaire wishes he could share in his mood. Instead he brings his bottle to his lips and cringes when the alcohol touches his tongue. He doesn't cringe from the alcohol, but for the disapproving scowl that would surely pass Enjorlas' face should he see Grantaire in such a state.
The thought is enough to make Grantaire take another sip. Away from him, his friends- his leader- were preparing for revolution; change. The Musain was filled with a crowd yelling for action, but he felt the fear under their words. And maybe he can't believe in a better world, or share in their excitement, but he won't give up on his leader.
With a sigh, he pulls his notebook towards him. He won't get around to filling the pages but he hardly ever does. Maybe someone will find it and keep it, or perhaps they will throw it away. They may think of the previous owner, but will they ever think that he is dead? Would they care? With a heavy heart, Grantaire can only stare at the blank page. He grips at his pen until his knuckles are white (he needs something to hold onto and Enjorlas slips through his fingers like water).
"Good night to be writing," The Patron says. His smile speaks of a life well lived. Untroubled by the struggles Enjolras is willing to lay down his life for. Will he care should the students die? Will he sit here, undisturbed when everything is over, or will he mourn for the idealists, the dreamers.
The chair creeks when the Patron leans back. "Some nights you sit to write and you just stare at a blank page and sigh, but other nights words fall out of you like rain." Grantaire isn't sure that he's talking to him, but this suits him just fine- this not quite company. He doesn't want to be alone, but he can't bring himself to the Corinthe either.
To return to the wine shop is to die, but he has already released his hold on living. Grantaire likes to think that he understands the weight of this decision (he won't know until that final second that he has always understood). He doesn't doubt their leader, but he doubts the people. Enjolras painted a beautiful picture with golden words, but did those words cut through the fear?
On his notebook, Grantaire writes but one point: I believe in him. With a resigned sigh, Grantaire closes his notebook. Grantaire has always believed in Enjorlas, and for that, he is bound to his fate. Grantaire offers the patron of the café a small smile and heads to the barricades.
::Fin::
Author's Note: I wrote this for strip-my-mind, but it didn't quite turn out the way she wanted it to. There was supposed to be romance, but it felt more natural writing this pairing one-sided. I haven't read the book, but I've seen the play, and watched the movie and get my characterization from there. If anyone has any pointers on characterization, please send them my way as I plan on writing another story for strip-my-mind, maybe actually getting some romance in there!
Tragic couples are my favorite to write, but there really doesn't appear to be much room to explore with these characters. They won't ever get the happily ever after (and shoot me, but I don't want there to be), they certainly don't get the romance before; they get one moment- and that only last for a second. I understand you can do the "night before" scenario, but it would be difficult to expand on that because Grantaire really didn't make himself worthy of Enjolras until that last second. The whole point of this ship is to basically rip your heart out and smash it to little pieces. It shouldn't be so addicting!