Hey all! Wow, what kind feedback on chapter two! I'm so glad you all are enjoying this so far! Here's chapter three... It shall be a little longer, and quite more dramatic... For this is where the true story begins. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Again, thanks to lemondropseverus and my cousin for the ideas for this chapter, and, again, I am still not Hugo.
~Rosey
Chapter Three:
"And Jehan, will you take Lorraine?" Enjolras instructed, turning to the young poet at the meeting later that morning. The blond revolutionary was assigning each ami a separate town in France to go and deliver a speech at, trying to rally the people all over the city. "Merci."
As Jean grinned and nodded, turning and racing out of the cafe, Enjolras sighed a little and jumped off his ever-popular stance atop the table before facing Combeferre, who was the only one who hadn't been told where to speak at yet. "'Ferre, you take Toulouse, and I'll go to Nord Pas-de-Calais."
Combeferre looked up in alarm from where he was flicking through the pamphlets Enjolras had given them at the start of the meeting, arching an eyebrow. "Enjolras, if you really think you'll take on Nord Pas-de-Calais all by yourself-"
"And why not?" the younger man crossed his arms. "I've spoken there many times before."
"Yes but...It's so dangerous there, Enjolras...So many people..." Combeferre mumbled as he looked down at his hands nervously. "I just don't think you should..."
"Combeferre," Enjolras's voice held a note of coldness as he gathered up some extra pamphlets and began to head toward the door. "I must ask you to please not treat me any differently than you did before you found out about my little heart condition. I've spoken there a hundred times before, and today will not be any different. I'll see you when we all meet up again this afternoon." And with that, the blond was gone.
The medical student sighed a little and swallowed nervously. He knew Enjolras would doubtless be just fine speaking at Nord Pas-de-Calais, just as he was fine speaking there several times in the past. But now that Combeferre knew about his friend's heart condition... Whether Enjolras wanted it or not, the older student was desperately worried for him. The bespectacled student thumped the pamphlets up and down anxiously in the palm of his hand for a moment before he gave in and got to his feet, grabbing his bag and hurrying out the door.
But not, of course, toward Toulouse.
Toward Nord Pas-de-Calais.
XXXXXX
By the time Combeferre managed to find Enjolras, the revolutionary leader was already in the middle of his impassioned speech, about fifty citizens standing about and listening to him with wide eyes and occasional cheers. Enjolras stood on an old crate outside a decaying building, but despite his seedy surroundings, he still managed to look majestic and god-like. Indeed, he seemed to radiate, his wild blond hair ruffling around his marble face, illuminated in the sunlight, his shining blue eyes fired with revolution, his strong, hymn-like voice carrying powerfully across the crowd.
Combeferre stepped behind a wall and watched his friend from a safe distance. It was incredible, really, that this Apollo-like young man was only hours ago snoring and hugging a pillow like a lifeline. Little would any of these people think, listening so intently now, that only that morning the blond marble statue was falling asleep at the kitchen table over an omelette.
Of course, the thing Combeferre was thinking most about was Enjolras's heart. That heart that was beating so passionately for freedom, pumping the blood through those veins that stuck out a little on Enjolras's forehead as he projected his voice like thunder, holding so much love for the people and France... It was faulty. Inside that perfect chest beat an imperfect heart. How on Earth was such a god-like man that tragically flawed? As Combeferre meditated on this, Enjolras continued to deliver his speech, unaware of the other revolutionary's presence.
"And I must emphasize that you are not an army for us, my friends, we are an army for you! The time is drawing near, my friends! The time to at last give a voice to those who have none! To rise and bring the world equality! A government run by the people, for the people! Does the king see you suffering and cold in the streets at night?! No! He sees his silken pillows and golden crowns! It is not only this, it is-"
But Enjolras suddenly paused here, his passionate face holding a hint of worry. For suddenly three handsome horses appeared behind the crowd, carrying national guards. The people at the back of the crowd turned and instantly panicked, some screaming, others beginning to shout "Death to the king!" This of course spurred the rest of the audience to spin around and soon the entire gathering was burst into chaos. Enjolras struggled to project his voice through the crowd, but even his powerful tone was no match for their screams.
"Don't let them scare you! They have no grounds for arrest! Just stay calm! We meet every afternoon, information in your pamphlets!" Enjolras tried to comfort the crowd, but nobody was listening anymore. Instead, the attention was drawn to a young woman who had taken up the cry of "Death to the King!" and was trying to attack a guard. The man was threatening her with his club, and suddenly brought it down on her head, causing her to scream.
"You cowards!" Enjolras roared, bolting off his crate and racing over to the scene of the crime, shoving his way through the crowd. He reached the sobbing young woman, no older than himself, gently pulling her away from the guards. "Are you alright, mademoiselle?" But no sooner did he do this than did he feel the club strike him on the back and he stumbled forward, gasping as he felt the breath get knocked out of him.
"Enjolras!" Combeferre cried, bolting out from behind the wall, trying to get over to his friend.
Enjolras, not hearing the other revolutionary's screams, only heard the guard above him shouting "Monsieur de la révolution, you are under arrest for public disturbance."
"Monsieur, get out of here!" the young woman he had helped begged, blood trickling from the wound on her temple.
"Take care of that injury," Enjorlas managed to get out, struggling to catch his breath as he squeezed her shoulder quickly. "And if you want to join our cause-"
"Just get out of here!" she cried, shoving him away from the national guard towards a back ally.
Enjolras hesitated for a moment, hating to leave the people fighting without him. But suddenly the national guard who had hit him with the club rode up right behind the blond revolutionary, brandishing his stick again, blocking him from the crowd. "Don't try and run, monsieur! It will only increase your sentence!"
"Go!" the young woman screamed, shoving Enjolras away from the horse and ducking into a near by wine shop herself. Only when Enjolras was sure she was safe did he take off at a sprint away from the guard, unaware that Combeferre was only yards behind him, watching in horror.
The medical student raced after Enjolras, who was still being pursued by the national guard on the horse. Fortunately, Enjolras was an incredibly fast runner, and obviously much more nimble than an elderly man on a giant horse. The blond slid under a passing cart, turning and ducking into another ally, causing the national guard to have to wait for the cart to pass before he followed the student down the ally. Combeferre, heart pounding, remained hot on their heels, racing after the guard.
This chase went on for several more minutes, and there were several times Combeferre thought he lost them, giving him mini panic attacks each time. Finally, Enjolras turned down an ally too narrow for the horse to fit through and the national guard hesitated for a moment and then apparently decided that some revolutionary student was not worth the pursuit anymore, for he muttered a foul word under his breath before yanking on the reigns and turning his horse around, trotting right past Combeferre, who was hiding behind a stack of old crates.
When the medical student was sure the guard was gone, he bolted out from his hiding place and raced toward the ally. "Enjolras!" he called, skidding into the ally's entrance. "Enjolras, are you-"
But he froze in horror, unable to carry on with his sentence. Enjolras was bent over, supporting himself with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily, his face unbelievably pained. One hand went to his chest, claw-like, and he stumbled, catching himself on the bricks of the wall. His eyes grew wide, and he slid down the wall to a sitting position on the ground, his breath catching in his throat. After a moment, he squeezed his eyes tightly, breathing heavily again, lowering his head between his knees, one hand still over his heart, the other clutching his knee, his knuckles white, his wild blond hair fluttering limply, sadly, in the cool breeze.
Combeferre finally found his footing and bolted over to his friend's side, kneeling down and putting a hand on Enjolras's shoulder. "Julien...?"
Enjolras's head instantly snapped up, and his pained eyes grew cold. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at Toulouse."
"Bloody good thing I'm not," Combeferre mumbled, rubbing Enjolras's back comfortingly. "We need to get you home-"
"You don't need to get me anywhere," Enjolras's voice was re-gaining strength and he attempted to rise, but his legs didn't seem to want to work at the moment. "You were supposed to be giving your speech in Toulouse. Not following me around like you're my mother."
"It's a good thing I did, though. Enjolras, you need to rest-"
"I need to go make sure everyone's alright back there," Enjolras snapped, finally managing to push himself up, shrugging off Combeferre's hand as he tried to help him. Enjolras swayed a little when he got to his feet, but he quickly supported himself on the wall and looked coolly at his friend as he stood. "I'll see you this afternoon, Combeferre."
"But Enjolras-!"
"I'll see you this afternoon," Enjolras interrupted, his eyes flashing. "I'm going back there now. And don't follow me."
And with that, Enjolras turned and walked out of the ally, his footing a little unsteady, but his head held high.
And Combeferre slid back down the wall and tried not to acknowledge the pricking at the back of his eyes.
Told you guys this chapter would be more story-line. ;-) What did you think? Rather dramatic, no?
If you have any feedback, please REVIEW!
Stay revolutionary!
~Rosey