A/N Hi! So I got this idea when I read the speech Enjolras makes after killing Claquesous. It's short and not all that developed but I wanted to get my idea out. Please tell me what you think :)
For as long as he could remember, Enjolras had loved fairytales. He had always been enamored with the idea of good triumphing over evil every single time despite the odds, not because the hero was stronger and more powerful than the villain, but rather simply because he was right, because he represented justice and love. Perhaps he was so fascinated by them because they inspired him; they reminded him that if you are good and your heart is true, you can overcome any circumstance. This knowledge he kept close during his childhood years, growing up in a family where he was ignored by his mother, verbally and physically abused by his father and having to withstand the almost constant attempts on his older brother's part to break his spirit. He made sure he never found out the true reason he never succeeded.
When Enjolras was fifteen, he and his brother were summoned to eat with their parents. Enjolras was surprised at this, he couldn't remember the last time, since his governess had left, when he'd not eaten in the sole company of his brother. Nevertheless he had cleaned and dressed himself in his finest and gone to the dining room at the appointed time. He met his parents at the door. His mother, a tall slim woman who still retained most of the beauty of her youth, except perhaps now she looked more regal in a long purple gown with small pearls sown onto the neck and with her graying hair piled high on her hand, extended her hand for him to kiss, which he did with the grace she had come to expect from him. His father barely looked in his direction but held out a hand for him to shake. As he was getting the bones of his hand crushed slightly, Enjolras noticed how the light of the candles glinted off the brass buttons adorning his father's blue velvet waistcoat that stretched over his pot belly to distract himself from the pain so he wouldn't show it outwardly. When his brother sauntered up to them a few minutes later, he kissed his mother on the cheek and received a smile from his father that made his moustache quiver. To greet Enjolras he reached over and messed up his curls, smirking at the look of discomfort it caused.
The atmosphere in the dining room was tense throughout the first and second courses, but when the third course was served, Enjolras' father banged his spoon on his wine glass, calling for the silence that already lay heavy on the room and stood, declaring he had an announcement to make.
"I have", he boomed, "just received a letter from the head office of the National Guard."
Enjolras' brother's head snapped up from his food. His father stepped out from his chair and walked over to place a hand on his eldest son's shoulder and looked him in the eyes.
"They have accepted you into their training program."
Enjolras' brother grinned as the implications of his statement sunk in. He stood and made to shake his father's hand, but instead was pulled into a hug and told repeatedly that his father was proud of him.
The excitement took almost ten minutes to die down. Enjolras' brother was hugged three times by his mother and once again by his father and they couldn't stop expressing their happiness that he was off to do something truly worthwhile with his life. When the room went silent again however, Enjolras' father pointed a finger in his direction.
"Well boy", he said sharply "haven't you anything to say to your brother?"
"I- congratulations" Enjolras said hurriedly meeting his brother's eyes for a second before returning his gaze to his hands in his lap. Unseen by him, his father's eyes flashed dangerously but he did not say anything.
After dinner, as they were all getting up to leave, Enjolras' father told him he would like a word with him. He followed him into the parlor and faced him, trying to stop the shaking in his hands. Enjolras' father took a deep breath and looking above his son's head, at the mantel beyond, started to speak.
"As you well know, today is very important for your brother, but I wanted to talk about you. In two years you will be the same age as your brother and you need to be making choices about your future. You can look into applying for the National Guard or-"
"I want to go University" Enjolras interrupted, surprising even himself with his audacity.
His father's face reddened.
"Let me get one thing straight with you, right now" he started angrily. "I will not pay for you to become some Bonapartist with your head stuck in a book! You will agree to serve your country and your king or you will not leave this house at all!"
"But-"
His father brought his hand back and hit his son with all his might on the side of his face and watched as he crumpled to the ground, trying to stay silent.
"You will obey me!" He roared. "Get up!" He reached down and yanked him up before resuming his gaze at the mantel.
"Think about what I have said. Now get out."
Enjolras nodded, wincing at the spike of pain this action produced and forced himself to bow and walk calmly out of the room, waiting until he was out of earshot to run the rest of the way to his room and locked himself in.
A few hours later Enjolras was sitting alone in the corner of his mother's extensive library with a book of his favorite stories in his hands. He had just retrieved it from where he secreted it away behind the line of books on the second bookshelf to the right of the largest window. The only light in the room was the lamp placed on the floor in front of him throwing shadows in the shape of his form over the room and creating mirrors of the darkened windows. As he read, Enjolras listened to the steady tick of the clock over his head and hoping the light would not wake anyone else in the house.
Minutes passed and Enjolras became so entranced in the story he was reading, anxiously turning pages to reassure himself the damsel in distress would be rescued by the dashing young prince that he didn't notice the squeak of rusty hinges as the door slowly opened. He also didn't notice soft footsteps travelling toward him from across the room. Then his book was wrenched from his hands and he glanced up to see his brother laughing, his face terrifyingly distorted by the flickering light shone by the lamp as he read the title of the book.
"Fairytales?" He scoffed and threw the book over his shoulder.
Enjolras made an involuntary noise of protest and upon hearing this, his brother bent down to his level and roughly grabbed his shoulders jerking his head forward. Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the blow that never came. Instead he felt his brother's warm breath on his cheek as he whispered:
"Fairytales are stupid and childish. I think I'll tell Father about this. He might teach you to grow up."
"No" Enjolras whispered, his eyes darting open.
"Oh?" His brother breathed in mock surprise. "Not scared of him are you?" He reached out and traced the forming bruise on his brother's face before his eyes hardened and pinched it. Hard. Enjolras gasped and bit down on his lip to stop himself from making any noise. He couldn't however stop a tear of pain from escaping.
His brother laughed softly. "See you tomorrow brother" he murmured and made to leave the room when he was stopped by Enjolras replying.
"At least I'm not training to go off and kill innocent people!" It was a petty remark but when his brother turned, Enjolras saw clearly the rage in his eyes.
In an instant he had grabbed Enjolras by the collar and roughly pulled him up, slamming him into a bookshelf. His face was so close that Enjolras could feel his spit as he yelled.
"I am going to be a hero! I am going to defend the honor of the king of this country! If you were any sort of decent person you would be at my feet by now!"
Enjolras swallowed with some difficulty and summoned what little resolve he had left to glare at his brother.
"The king is a tyrant and the people are the ones whose honor you should be defending. It is the natural right of the people to be free, why don't you work on achieving that?"
His brother's face turned purple in a spectacular imitation of his father.
"You're so naïve Enjolras! There is no such thing as natural right just as there are no such things as fairytales. Grow up!"
And dropping his brother unceremoniously to the floor he stormed out of the room, kicking over the lamp as he went to that the library was plunged into darkness.
Enjolras allowed himself to lie on the polished wooden floor, feeling the throbbing in his cheek and the ankle he had landed awkwardly on. Eventually he made himself sit up and retrieve the candle and matchbox he had stored in his pocket and lit it, using its light to find his way to the third bookshelf to the right of the largest window. He reached behind his mother's copy of Dante's 'Inferno' to bring out the other book he had stored away from the prying eyes of his family: 'A Discourse Upon the Origin and the Foundation Of The Inequality Among Mankind' by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. As he often did after an altercation with his brother, he opened it and started reading at random, reaffirming his beliefs.
It wasn't until the gray light of dawn began to filter through the windows that an unpleasant thought occurred to him: with his brother leaving soon, there would be no one to distract his father from his disappointment in his younger son. And so, Enjolras decided his time at home had come to an end.
He glanced at the window, and, realizing he didn't have much time until his parents would wake up, he moved with a renewed purpose, extinguishing his candle, he grabbed his book and fetched the other from the corner of the room where it had ended up through his brother's callous action and left the room to pack the things he would need: mostly money and clothes. In less than twenty minutes he found himself standing outside his childhood home, blinking in the light of the newly-risen sun. He allowed himself a moment to look back to the towering manor that had been the scene of so many awful memories but it had also been his home, so he felt a sting of nostalgia as he took in the red brick façade. Eventually he tore his eyes away and forced himself to turn and walk away. He had a carriage to catch. To Paris.
When his parents entered the dining room for breakfast that morning, it was to find a note placed in front of the chair Enjolras had always sat at. On it was written three words: Vive le Republiqué.
Nine years later Enjolras found himself once again arguing. Except now it was with Grantaire. This time however the gravity of the situation they found themselves in lent a severity to their argument that had never been present before. They were on the barricade, in the act of fighting for freedom and Grantaire still couldn't get over his cynicism.
"The people aren't going to come Enjolras! They're afraid!" Grantaire yelled.
"Of course they are!" Enjolras replied in kind. "We are fighting for what's right, how could they ignore us?"
"It doesn't matter that it's right, what matters is what's going to happen! Things don't just happen because they should!"
"Haven't you ever heard of natural right overcoming the fact?"
"There is no such thing as natural right Enjolras", Grantaire had stopped yelling but still managed to inject spite into his voice. "Stop being so naïve."
Enjolras' eyes widened and he took a step back.
"Enjolras!" Combeferre called from behind him, "over here, they've got cannons!"
Enjolras gripped his gun tighter and stormed up the barricade to where Combeferre was crouched just below the top, looking through a gap in the furniture it was made up of. He moved aside to let Enjolras see and what he saw sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Combeferre was right, they had three cannons lined up and ready to cause devastation, and commanding them was a uniformed man with a familiar face. He leveled his gun at him and flicked off the safety latch.
"Do you need to kill him?" Combeferre almost pleaded. "Look at him, blond hair, blue eyes… he could be your brother."
Enjolras closed his eyes briefly and that hand that was on the trigger shook slightly. However when he opened his eyes again, they were hard and determined. He realized in that moment that they had always been right. Good would prevail but not simply because it was good, it could only prevail when it was also superior to evil and when the contrast between the two was stark enough so that even the blind could tell the difference. Because good could not win alone, it needed support, it needed effort and sometimes pain and suffering. And it needed martyrs.
He pulled the trigger.