"Adieu"
Grantaire stared with admiration as Enjolras grew with fury, climbing to the top of the barricades, shouting to the officers.
"Let others rise! To take our place! Until the earth is free!" he cried at the top of his being, taking the red flag in his hands, waving it as the battle begun.
Grantaire shook his head, realising his stupidity; this was the time for war, not for adoration and admiration, this was the time to prove himself to Enjolras. Taking his musket, he fired shots over the barricade, shouting as he did, watching those around him, fellow friends and revolutionaries, all falling to their deaths, shot and wounded.
"Make 'em pay through the nose!" Combeferre repeated, shouting fiercely as he climbed the barricades, Courfeyrac following him, shouting also as he fired shots over the barricade.
"Make 'em pay for every man!"
Blood was everywhere; Grantaire gazed about as he fired endless shots as he tried to climb up the barricades to Enjolras, who was shooting as he encouraged the students and revolutionaries, waving the red flag.
"Red! The world about to dawn! À la volonté du people et à la santé du progress!" he shouted, firing another shot and Grantaire slipped, his footing clumsy in the smoke and heavy gunfire. He smiled, nearly with Enjolras, nearly by his side.
"Black! The night that ends at last! Remplis ton coeur d'un vin rebelle!" he replied to Enjolras, shouting at the top of his lungs. He was going to die, Grantaire knew it; they all would.
But that didn't stop the utter devastation that hit him as blood hit his face, Enjolras' cry was suddenly stopped and his eyes widened.
"No!" Grantaire wrenched the scream from his body as Enjolras toppled over the barricades, the flag falling before him.
In a moment, Enjolras and the flag were gone.
"No..." Grantaire whispered, and he began climbing to the top of the barricade, screaming madly as he did.
He took his musket and shot without fear or control, the tears of grief and fury already filling his eyes and covering his sooty face. The moments passed like hours and Grantaire only knew the pure emptiness that embodied him as he fired from atop the barricade.
He didn't register exactly when he was hit; all Grantaire knew was that he was suddenly conscious of the blood pouring from his front, the cold pain of lead wedged into his stomach, a wound that would take hours to kill him. Spluttering, he dropped the gun, stepping once more, up to the peak of the barricade; he saw Enjolras, lying cold and dead upon his red flag, tangled within it and hanging from the barricade.
Grantaire turned to the pistol he kept in his belt and raised it to his temple.
"Adieu"