Chapter 2
Enjolras woke to a gruff voice near by. As he opened his eyes, he spotted Combeferre. His friend was being taken by a couple guards, likely to experience similar punishments to Enjolras from the previous day. At least, Enjolras assumed it had been the previous day. It was difficult to tell.
"Combeferre," Enjolras said, his voice steady. Combeferre nodded to Enjolras.
"Enjolras, mon ami!" he said just before the door was closed behind him, leaving Enjolras completely alone in the darkness. Enjolras only then realized how much pain he was in, but he chose to ignore it as much as possible. He was still tired, but he didn't want to be asleep when Combeferre returned, so he forced his eyes to stay open and contemplated things.
The people had not risen, but Enjolras was not as angry as one might expect. He knew the people were afraid, and he knew that they would be brave enough to rise eventually. Perhaps this revolution would inspire the next. perhaps his fallen comrades would be remembered somehow. He thought of Courfeyrac and his joyous laughter even in the heat of battle. How his friend had mocked the National Guard and their cannon even though they all knew they would perish.
Enjolras remembered how Grantaire had screamed, "Enjolras, look out!" and had shoved him out of the way only to get hit with a bullet himself. He had gone to the drunkard's side and heard the last words spoken: "I believe in you." He hadn't known what to think.
Enjolras rolled up the leg of his pants and examined his wound. It didn't look very good. Joly could have given him a much better diagnosis than that, but it didn't matter. Enjolras knew he was going to die soon anyway. His thoughts on death were not as dark as most who find themselves in a similar situation. He hoped that his death would be public so that the people would see him stand for them until the end. Yes, it was true that he wished to be remembered, but he also wished for the people to have all they deserved and that was the focus. His desire to be remembered paled greatly in contrast to his wish for real justice.
His mind drifted again to the battle and he saw Courfeyrac holding off the National Guard with Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly, and Combeferre.
"You would think the kings men would be better shots!" Courfeyrac joked and grinned as he shot down another man. His laugher was broken by a wizzing sound. The bullet found it's target and the centers had fallen - both the man and the barricade. Combeferre was the only one of the four still standing.
Enjolras couldn't remember the details of the battle, only snippets. He wasn't sure how he and Combeferre came to be the only survivors, but they were. Come to think of it, Enjolras could not recall seeing Marius shot down, but surely he was also dead.
As Enjolras sat pondering these thoughts, the door opened and Combeferre was returned to the cell. Enjolras looked up at his friend and was surprised by how little blood there was on him. Combeferre was chained to the wall and the guards closed the door, leaving the two in dark silence.
"You hardly look injured." Enjolras commented, but there were questions behind these words.
"I gave them names." Combeferre confessed. At Enjolras's stare, Combeferre smiled a little. "I never said they were the correct ones."
"What names did you give?" Enjolras inquired after a pause.
"Names from books. It will take them a while to figure it out I would imagine." Combeferre's eyes fell to Enjolras' leg and the latter could see that there was guilt in Combeferre's eyes.
"It is not your hard that did this, so do not blame yourself." Enjolras chided gently and rolled his pant leg back down to hide the injury. Combeferre nodded and looked away.
"What will your parents think if they find out?" Combeferre asked quietly.
"They will likely be alarmed." Enjolras replied coolly as if he couldn't have care less. This wasn't entirely true. He did care what his parents thought of him, he loved them if only for the fact they were the people who had brought him into the world, but he was not especially close to either of them.
Combeferre nodded thoughtfully and Enjolras knew he was wondering the same thing about his own parents.
"Feuilly will be remembered by no one once we are dead." Combeferre realized. Enjolras looked down. Feuilly was an orphan and was not wealthy, but despite the hard life he had, he wanted to help others. He had done all the good he could during his short life time, and Enjolras greatly admired the workman. Feuilly had even taught himself to read and write, something Enjolras wished everyone could do. Feuilly had been an example of what the poor should strive for. The wealthy could try to equalize everything as much as they wanted, but until the poor man was willing to rise above the dark filth of the street, it would do little good. Enjolras wished the man would be remembered. He had been so kind and loving to everyone.
"Perhaps he will be remembered one day. I saw a man behind a pillar at the barricade. He appeared to be a writer. Perhaps he will record our story." Enjolras suggested. It was true, and even if it never happened, if he could brig some comfort to his friend, it would be worth it.
"Yes, I think I saw him as well." Combeferre agreed and smiled a little.
"Have you slept enough?" Enjolras asked kindly.
"No, I am still tired." Combeferre admitted.
"Then follow your own advise to me and sleep." Enjolras said. Combeferre smiled again and laid down on the cold ground.
"Alright." He consented. Enjolras also laid down and shivered against the cool damp floor. If Joly had been there, he likely would have been terrified of aquiring some sort of dreaded disease. Enjolras smiled sadly at that thought. He truly did miss his friends. He had no regrets regarding the revolution, but that did not stop him from missing them.
Enjolras dreamt of the Musain cafe with his friends seated around him. They laughed and argued, drank and played. Grantaire sauntered over to him and leaned against the table, his drunken legs finding it difficult to keep him from toppling over.
" 'jolras!" He greeted warmly, his breath smelling of alcohol.
"What is it?" Dream Enjolras demanded coldly. He was busy writing a speech and was not in the mood to be interrupted.
"They're coming!" Grantaire said, his voice now sounding panicked.
Enjolras bolted upright as pain shot through him again. He moaned loudly. A boot had connected with his broken ribs.
"Here's your meal, traitors!" The guard said and walked away. Enjolras looked at the bowl in front of him. It looked vile. He rarely had an appitite at the best of times. He knew he had to eat though, and he probably was hungry. He hadn't eaten in at least three days. He took the bowl into his hands, just as a rat had scurried towards it. Enjolras took a bite of the food and nearly threw up. It was worse than it looked if that was even possible. Enjolras glanced at Combeferre who seemed to be struggling with his own dish.
"Eat it, you'll need to." Combeferre reasoned. Enjolras knew he was right, so he swallowed what was already in his mouth and took another bite. The rat seemed disappointed to have missed out on an easy meal, but it didn't give up so easily. It scrambled up Enjolras and rested on his shoulder. Enjolras slapped the rat and it went scurrying away noisily.
Enjolras was more thirsty than hungry. He saw a bucket with a little water and a ladle. He brought up the ladle and put it to his lips. The water smelt like the streets of Paris and Enjolras scowled. It was terrible the way they treeted prisoners. He opened his mouth anyway and poured the liquid inside. It tasted nearly as foul as it smelt, but Enjolras swallowed it anyway. He would need to stay alive until they decided to kill him. He gently pushed the bucket over to Combeferre. Combeferre smelt the water and made a face, but also drank it.
"I think they gave us the wrong bucket." Combeferre attempted to joke. Enjolras gave him a curtesy smile, but they both knew it wasn't funny.
Shortly thereafter, Enjolras' stomach decided he wasn't suited to prison life and threw up the dirty food and water. Combeferre looked sympathetically at his friend, but could offer him little comfort. He pushed the bucket towards him and Enjolras gratefully splashed a bit of water on his face to clean it. Then he poured a bit of the liquid into his mouth and spat it out, successfully rinsing his mouth of the vile taste, but leaving one almost as unpleasant.
"You'll get used to it eventually." Combeferre said. It wasn't exactly comforting, it was just a statement of fact. Enjolras nodded and shuddered as the smell of vomit filled his nose. Enjolras had a strong stomach for blood, but not for gross food. Combeferre had a much better tolerance due to his being a medical student.
"Joly would hate it here." Enjolras said.
"Yes, he would." Combeferre agreed sadly. "And Jehan would sit here as we are and think up morbid poems to consol himself." He added.
"Courfeyrac would remain cheerful even after all of this. He would joke and tease." Enjolras nodded.
"Bossuet would cheerily complain that it was just his luck." Combeferre couldn't help but laugh.
"Feuilly would be horrified that anyone had to experience this and go off about how Poland greets it's citizens much better."
"Grantaire would be angry at the lack of wine, but would be completely miserable."
"Bahorel would try and fight the guards even with his hands bound."
Silence fell again over the room as the two friends remembered the fallen. It was bittersweet, and they wanted to savor the moment.
"That rat is enjoying the rest of my bowl." Enjolras commented as he watched the foul creature eating greedily.
"Prison rats are well fed." Combeferre added morbidly. The guards returned at that moment, making the rats scurry back to their dark wholes in the walls. The bowls were removed, as was the water. Nobody bothered to clean the mess Enjolras had left on the floor and Enjolras guessed they would have to endure the smell for quite a bit longer.
"What would you have done with your life if we had won, Enjolras?" Combeferre asked.
"I would have continued to serve the people. Perhaps I would have become like Lamarque." Enjolras replied quickly, but thoughtfully. Combeferre nodded.
"I would have become a doctor and gotten married." He looked at the blond. "Would you have gotten married?"
"No. My only love is Patria, and I feel a family would interfere. I would have to worry myself about them and my focus would be torn." Enjolras explained quietly.
"But they could bring so much joy." Combeferre argued kindly.
"I have no desire for it, so I do not believe it would bring me joy, Combeferre." Enjolras countered.
"A perhaps you are right." Combeferre grudgingly agreed.
"Who would you have married?" Enjolras inquired after a short pause.
"I had no one in mind," Combeferre replied, blushing slightly. "I would have liked to marry though, if I had found the right woman."
"Hmm." Enjolras said and turned to the door.
A few days passed much the same and neither or them were taken in for questioning. They sat the entire time in their cell, talking, eating, and sleeping. Combeferre was beginning to get stubble on his neck and jaw line, but Enjolras was still practically clean shaven. Combeferre gently teased Enjolras about it to try and lighten the mood. Enjolras hadn't reacted hardly at all.
The next morning, Enjolras awoke to a large hand yanking him up.
"Your friend lied!" He practically screamed in Enjolras' ear. "Do you have so little honor as to lie to us?" Enjolras was yanked out of the cell and into the same torture room he had entered days ago. He was again placed on the table and tied there, and again he did not struggle.
"What are their names?!" The man demanded angrily.
"I will not reveal their names to you no matter the cost." Enjolras replied calmly and felt pain in his arm again. Blood flowed down and made Enjolras cold.
"Tell them to me." The man said, imitating Enjolras' calm tone, but sounding rediculous as he did so.
"No!" Enjolras said defiantly. The man pressed against his broken ribs once again and Enjolras cried out again. The same rutine, the same pain, and again Enjolras did not share any names. His mind was again trying to shield him from the immense pain. His mind wrapped a blanket of illusions around him and it reminded him of Combeferre's warm embrace.
"Very well, this one will not break. Bring the other in."
Enjolras could barely hear the words, but the part of his mind that could still understand was afraid. Not for himself, but for Combeferre. Would they hurt Combeferre? Or perhaps they would continue to hurt Enjolras and ask Combeferre to reveal the names. Enjolras hated these men. They were the true rats, the real scum of the street.
The door opened and Enjolras assumed Combeferre was shoved inside. He heard a far away cry that sounded vaguely like his friend's voice screaming his name and sobbing.
"Combeferre." Enjolras tried to say calmly. He wasn't even sure if the word got out of his mouth. He felt like he was drowning. Drowning in the pain he could no longer feel. He couldn't hear or feel anymore until he felt his body stiffen and heard a cry. He couldn't tell if it was his own or Combeferre's. Enjolras silently begged his friend not to cave. He knew how much Combeferre loved him, but if Combeferre gave up the names, everything would be ruined.
Eventually the pain stopped, but Enjolras wasn't sure why. He was taken back to his cell, but his mind was still not able to focus on anything. He heard his name being called from far away, but he couldn't get to it yet. The blanket over him stayed for a while, but Enjolras couldn't have said how long. Finally he was able to be free of it and he heard sobbing from beside him. He turned his head and saw Combeferre.
" 'Ferre," Enjolras said softly. His friend looked up and smiled slightly, tears still streaming down his face.
"Enjolras!" He reached out to touch Enjolras and Enjolras reached out to touch him. Their fingers met again and they took comfort - however small it was - in each other's presence and touch.
"What happened?" Enjolras asked weakly. He was still in pain, but his mind wouldn't let him recall any of the events from when the blanket had covered him.
"I didn't tell them any names. They..." He bit his lip and looked down. "They're going to execute us soon. They found out that neither of us will cave, no matter the consequences, so they have no further use for us."
Enjolras nodded as calmly as if he had just heard Combeferre talk about a book he had read.
"You never cease to amaze me with your calmness, mon ami." Combeferre said breathlessly. It was clear he was not looking forward to their execution.
"We knew from the start it was coming, and there are worse things than death."
"Yes, that is true. What is death? How is it so different from life?" Combeferre wondered out loud.
"We will find out shortly." Enjolras replied and smiled slightly. Combeferre couldn't help but laugh a little at this. It was true, he would soon receive the answer to one of the questions that bothered him most. It was ironic that you had to die in order to learn what death was.
"I wish I could touch you. I wish I could hold you one more time." Combeferre whispered sadly.
"As do I." Enjolras whispered back. He wanted to feel the reassurance of Combeferre's warm body pressed close to his own, their arms wrapped around each other. He gripped Combeferre's fingers the best he could and looked into his best friend's eyes. He realized there was no word to express the way they felt about each other. There was no word to describe their special relationship. They had something rare between them, a bond that could never be broken.
"We will be with each other after we die, and then we can embrace each other as we would like to know." Enjolras promised. He shivered as the cold damp floor started to effect him more. It still stank terribly in their small cell, but Enjolras had gotten used to it by now, as had Combeferre.
"You had better be right." Combeferre nodded and caressed Enjolras' fingers.
"We shall be with them again also." Enjolras added, thinking of the friends who had already left them.
"And Jean Prouvaire will have written a beautiful verse in our honor no doubt,"
"In all of our honor." Enjolras agreed and smiled slightly.
They fell asleep together that night, as close as they could in the difficult positions they had been chained in. The next morning they were allowed their rest, and for a few days, they were left alone. Finally, on the fourth day, they were woken up and prepared for execution. They were to be guillotined as was customary for political prisoners. Before they were lead from the room, Combeferre threw his arms around Enjolras' neck and pulled him close. Enjolras returned the embrace and they whispered words of love and comfort to each other. They were lead to the block with their heads held high, looking proud and defiant.
"Vive la république!" Enjolras shouted and then knelt and welcomed death. Combeferre was torn between honoring his friend by watching, or turning away. Then it was his turn, and he faced death just as bravely, but with less fire. He knelt as well and soon the world went black.
Enjolras stood and looked around. Arms quickly embraced him.
"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac's voice cried happily. Jean Prouvaire was right beside him.
"We missed you so much!" The poet said and also threw his arms around Eniolras. The others also stood around Enjolras, talking and embracing him, but in a moment, Enjolras turned away from them all and smiled at Combeferre. They embraced each other warmly.
"Well done, mon ami."