A/N: Hi guys. Long time no see! Before you dive into this new story of mine, I'd like to say something.
I've missed this fandom.
I mean it. I really, really have. When I look at the state of my fan life now, and the frankly absurd amount of genre television I watch and comics I read and movie franchises I love, etc etc, I find it incredible that me finding those fandoms can nearly all be traced back to me getting into this one. The one with all my original heartbreak, fan-creations, and fandom friends. How awe-inspiring is that?
So I want to dedicate this first of the Third Annual Barricade Day stories not only to the two years that have passed since I started doing this gig on FF, but to all the wonderful things that have come out of it since.
June 5, 1832
The first time I saw him, he was afraid.
He was sitting in the back of the cafe where I was talking with the students.
I asked them how they were, if they'd been part of the revolution for long, and if they expected a great victory. I was no newspaper writer, nor revolutionary myself: just a man interested in hearing other people's stories who had been caught up in this whirlwind of a rebellion.
I turned their words into ink,
put that ink on paper,
and remembered it well.
I'm constantly sending out more stories of trials and tribulations,
Which seems to be this revolution's most notable cause.
His whole appearance made him look like just another revolutionary out of a million. A uniform that's really just his work-clothes with a rosette pinned to the lapel.
Wild dark hair.
The faint shades of facial hair that only an eighteen year old could grow.
I'd already queried the other students for stories. They'd responded passionately and honestly, as you might expect, and while this one look fairly green I thought he might have a few decent yarns to share anyway.
So I walked up to him and asked him his name, and why he looked so scared.
He told me. His name was Olivier Thomas Renault. He was afraid because he thought he was going to die.
He had no problem dying for the cause. It was a noble cause, noble as any worth fighting for. But he was afraid that if he did die, surrounded by his friends on the massive barricade, then he would never know if they won or not. And it just seemed so unfair to never find out the end.
I scoffed at that. What a selfish thing to say, I thought! I bought him another drink out of pity, then left the cafe soon after.
No one there had anything left to say to me, which is why I felt so guilt when all of them-even scared Olivier- died the next day on the barricade.
