Book Nine:

The Tendrils of Love and the Horrors of Hate


Enjolras' Acrimony

With the last of furnishings in place, Enjolras and Marius climbed to the highest point of the main barricade to wait out the calm before the storm. In the distance: glass shattering, hollers, a few chants, a few shots. All rioters, none with honor.

Otherwise, all was quiet.

Aurelie sat against a pillar in the shadows, no work left to do, only a contemplative watch. She listened to the men around her joke and tease, and soon was joined by Eponine, still in her boy's attire as well.

"I saw you shoved around like a little girl," Eponine noted sideways.

Aurelie groaned, still angered by the manhandling she'd received. However she would not let Eponine's remarks get to her, as she knew there was no malice behind them. She hated to internally quote Napoleon, but the phrase came to mind anyways: Never ascribe to malice that which can adequately be explained by incompetence.

"I saw you bravely join them as a man ready to fight," Aurelie replied.

Eponine swallowed. "I will die with Marius."

"I believe in you."

Eponine bit the inside of her cheek until she could taste the blood. "And will you die with Enjolras?"

"I have determined we will not die," Aurelie responded with a calm raise of a brow.

She then felt Eponine grip her forearm and turned her eyes to the girl, seeing desperation. "You will stay beside me?"

Aurelie nodded.

"I will."

Grantaire stumbled out of the tavern in this early hour. He joked with Joly and Bossuet at the foot of the main barricade.

"Shut up, you wine cask!" hissed Courfeyrac, to which Grantaire drunkenly slurred:

"I am Capitoul, municipal magistrate of Toulouse and master of flower games!"

The babble of absinth.

Enjolras finally looked down, his face austere, his musket raised from watch to sky.

"Grantaire!" he yelled. "Go and sleep off the booze away from here. This is the place for intoxication, not drunkenness. Do not dishonor the barricade!"

It was only when Enjolras was truly angry that Grantaire felt profoundly wounded, and these sorts of words would sober him quickly. In this, he felt his shame for drinking, drinking of course as a result of his hopeless plight. Though Grantaire brought harsh words upon himself with his baiting for attention, Aurelie never liked to hear Enjolras turn on him with anger. The poor man was lost.

Grantaire had hesitated before returning to the café, and to look Enjolras in the eyes the way one gazes upon a lover.

"You know I believe in you."

"Go away," Enjolras said, shaking his head.

"Let me sleep here."

"Go and sleep somewhere else."

Aurelie frowned in true pity as Grantaire continued to gaze at Enjolras, loving and distraught at once. Enjolras had yet to take up his anger with her, and she knew some was leaking out at Grantaire.

"Let me sleep here until I die," Grantaire pleaded, austere and grave.

Aurelie wanted to march over and hit Enjolras as he looked at Grantaire in disdain, responding with: "Grantaire, you are not capable of believing, thinking, wanting, living or dying."

Eying him levelly, Grantaire responded in a way that gave Aurelie chills.

"You'll see."

As he returned to the café, he muttered a few words Aurelie could not hear. She could not decide if she wished she could.

A few minutes later, Enjolras had reached an internal boiling point after talking to Grantaire, and he needed to speak with Aurelie and get her out of here. "Careful watch," he said to Marius while taking to his feet. It was a precarious climb down over the rubble, but once his shoes hit the street, he looked over at Aurelie, knew instinctively where she was even though he hadn't seen her since he'd climbed to the top.

Aurelie rose to her feet when she saw Enjolras spot her and prepared herself for the worst when he made his approach. His eyes held every emotion a man can feel, but he knew her; knew that she could speak of his ideals as an educated woman, possibly more than the men who surrounded him. He would know she could fight as fiercely in this war as she could argue his words.

Enjolras gripped her arm right in front of Eponine and pulled her into the privacy of dark shadows. "I wish you would leave," he hissed into her ear.

"I hope you won't ask me to," Aurelie stated. "And stop yanking me around by my arm."

Instantly, Enjolras let go. He was angry, but he wasn't realizing his anger seeping into his muscles. Looking her over, he altered his touch to gentle and stroked her cheek. "You are not safe here," he said. "You saw enough in Bastille today. You're in no condition to—"

"To what?" Aurelie challenged, looking him firmly in his eyes. "To witness the war you've spoke of? To see your victories and the blood of your foes?"

"To see the blood of our friends," Enjolras said, bewildered by her defiance.

"Don't you dare demand me away now," Aurelie continued strongly. They had a very clear dispute on the timing of her escape, and Aurelie would not let it be now. Aurelie would remain steadfast in this argument. She would not leave if he held his musket to her head. "When you met me, you knew what you were getting into, just as I with you. You knew I am dauntless, so do not treat me as though I've changed. I watched the life leave an innocent woman today. I must witness any deaths of my friends, if only to remember their lives and what they stood for."

She gestured to the windows, many shutters closed. "I will not hide in my room and act as though nothing is happening below like a coward. You loved me for my strength before, love me now for my insistence upon it."

Enjolras did not have the time for this, though that wasn't the reason he would leave her be. He knew she would not concede to his wishes, and there was a debt that had been incurred by his neglect. It would take something horrible for her to finally accept the danger, but he had one card in his hand that he hoped would spur her to safety.

"And how will it affect you if you see me die?" he asked.

While Aurelie knew of death, knew now with absolution that there would be many deaths in this rise of the people, the word aloud affected her deeply, especially when uttered from his lips and about himself. She would not allow this weakness to be seen.

"Heartbreak," she stated firmly, no hint of emotion behind it. "Devastation and ruin."

Enjolras slumped, an action that rarely occurred. "Which is why you must leave."

Aurelie vehemently shook her head. "I haven't finished," she said, looking deep into his eyes. "I will also watch with pride. I am proud of the man I stand by for exactly that; taking a stance. His willingness to die with honor for what he believes in. I will always speak of it with pride, as I will tell the story to our child of your bravery and determination, regardless of my position in life with where it leaves me."

"Let us return to heartbreak," Enjolras said under his breath as he glanced away.

"I will not," she said, solid in both posture and tone. "If you die, I will watch you take your last breath. I will not hear it be told to me, as I would not believe it is so. I will need to see it with my own eyes, and can only hope that if this tragedy occurs, you will take that last breath looking into mine."

Enjolras locked his jaw. "I am livid," he said to her, though anger was not what he felt fully. "You make it harder and harder for me to die."

He would not stop here. "You will watch only from the shadows," he insisted gravely. "Do not distract me by leaving them, for I will be forced to step away from my duty to drag you back into them. And if the barricade falls, you are to run."

Aurelie placed her hand on his arm tenderly, her touch absolute assurance. She would not kill the child she carried. Her copy of Enjolras.

"I promise you that."

Enjolras turned, but hesitated, just as Grantaire had earlier.

"Take your cap off."

"I will not," Aurelie said.

Enjolras chuckled. "You will, because I do not want to kiss a boy."

She was unable to believe he had asked in public for this, though they were behind a pillar in the dark. She also knew that that if they were seen, now that the plight was in play, Enjolras would not be viewed as weak. Strength was all around her, in every man and woman.

"Yes, Monsieur," she responded gently, pulling the pin that kept it locked on her head. She removed it and held it at her side.

Enjolras carefully laid a hand upon her cheek, took a second to savor this simple touch before moving into the next. However dark, he was able to see the whites of her eyes just before they closed while she leaned her head into his hand. His other hand delicately landed on her waist and he pressed his lips to hers. Again he paused without a motion before they became alive.

Though the kiss held the acumen and sadness of this scene, it was magic. He felt no weakness; his wife was the trigger of his gun. She had been the reason his aim was true this morning. He had not missed a shot. God had willed it so and steered the bullet into the hearts of those who would harm her.

And he could pray those bullets that could harm him would stray from his flesh so he could continue to protect her in years to come.

When he left her lips, he let his hand travel to her belly and come to a rest. He'd had her lips, and through her, could touch his child.

He did not speak then, there were no words. Enjolras simply swallowed and nodded at Aurelie, then left the shadows and entered the twilight. Light shed from houses that had not closed the shutters and many torches had been set up at the barricade and beyond.

He had a misstep that created a pause: the Les Amis de l'ABC in front of him around and atop the barricade, Aurelie at his back.

It was in this profundity that Enjolras felt heavy with what was right being wrong. There was no turning back, and had he known this would come, he would have made the very same steps to bring him here. It was enough to know he was wrong having his back toward her, but he faced what was correct as well.

Strange thing to feel wrong, and a foreign thought. And so it was willed away and he continued to the barricade.

Aurelie was resolute. She would be met with death, though knew not at this point and time who would die. But she would see it to make it a truth. She would not leave.

Be that as it may, she would not put herself in harm's way, and not just because Enjolras would never stand for it. She had a higher call now that was greater than the republic. She would have a child. But she could assist from behind the barricade, loading the weapons and taking the old for a reload. Behind the barricade she could hide from bullets while still doing all she could to keep Enjolras armed.

Pinning the cap on her head, she stepped from the shadows and sat down by Eponine. She knew Eponine had seen it all.

"I see the world best in the shadows," Eponine whispered. "Most don't, but they're clearer to me than daylight."

Aurelie eyed her sideways without a change in her features. "Then that is that."

"No," she said.

Eponine swiveled toward her, then placed her hand on her stomach. Aurelie's eyes widened in consternation, darting from the girl's face to her hand.

"That is that," Eponine said pointedly.

"However do you mean?" Aurelie whispered, trying very hard to deny it without speaking the words. But Eponine noticed things others did not. She had seen into the shadows; seen Enjolras' hand rest on this very spot in a way that was undeniable to even the thickest skulls.

Eponine shrugged and removed her hand. Slouched back down beside her. Aurelie waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. Her silence stated that she knew even if Aurelie denied it outright, she would not argue a fact.

After a few minutes of realizing she would hear no words from the conversations around her until she had acknowledged this, without any sort of motion, Aurelie stated: "Yes."

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Eponine nod in the way one mocks another when they were right all along. "It's a boy," she sang.

For reasons unknown, Aurelie wanted to stand up and storm away in anger. There was no telling why she felt it, only that it was present. Perhaps it felt like an invasion of privacy, but there was more to it than that. Her child had been the only secret left that she and Enjolras shared alone, and this foolish girl had intruded on that sacrament. If they made it out alive, she'd be long gone with her child; did not want anyone here to ever know the truth of it all.

Succeeding to Eponine's accuracy of her pregnancy had been more than she'd wanted to allow, but now Eponine had guessed what Aurelie and Enjolras knew to be a fact without the proof. And to share an instinct was more private than sharing a secret truth.

Lifting her chin, Aurelie said: "If we are to die as you expect, we will never know."

And that was that.


The Sins of War

Gavroche returned in the next hour, told of what he had seen. Rioters were in the streets, which aggravated Enjolras for their lack of honor and fighting with pride. The National Guard was preparing for their attacks and Gavroche estimated they'd see battle before midnight, which gave them approximately five hours, if he was right.

"Perhaps you're well on your way to earning that musket," Enjolras told the boy.

"It's always the little ones who can be trusted," Courfeyrac said with a smile, tapping Gavroche's cap down so it covered his eyes.

Adjusting his hat, Gavroche said, "It's the big ones who can't be." He then nodded his head toward the café. "Citizens, there's a big one over there worth scoping out."

Enjolras glanced over in the direction gestured toward. "Which?"

"The big one doing nothing but scoping out you," Gavroche said.

Locating a man in browns, Enjolras asked: "What of him?"

"Stool pigeon," Gavroche responded calmly, causing Enjolras to whip his head back to the boy, chin prominently locked.

"You're sure of this?" Enjolras asked, studying the boy to be sure it was not child's play.

"Not even a fortnight ago he pulled me by my ear from the ledge of point Royal where I was getting some fresh air."

Aurelie had caught this, let her eyes travel behind her toward the tavern. This man had been helping her build the smaller barricade. Having paid little attention to who she recognized and who she did not while piling things up, she was now certain she'd seen him in this very neighborhood many times before.

Rising, Enjolras beckoned Courfeyrac and Fueilly with his head toward the man, then whispered something to Bossuet. A mutual nod was shared by all, and they positioned themselves around the man unobtrusively and discreetly until Enjolras finally stepped toward him.

"Who are you?" Enjolras demanded, managing to be imposing despite his thin frame, enough to cause the stolid, muscled man to flinch.

The man's eyes began on Enjolras, but darted around meeting the eyes of the others, and he understood he was cornered. With a sneer of arrogance, he straightened his frame.

"I am a government official."

"By what name?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "I am Javert."

Aurelie watched Enjolras signal at the others with a toss of his head to the side, then braced herself beside Eponine by grabbing the girls' arm as they lunged and attacked.

Javert eased. He knew he didn't have an escape here while the men held him, and was plotting his way out.

"Good evening dear inspector!" Gavroche cried, running over with a toothy grin.

Chin low, Enjolras glared at Javert with malice, cursing himself for not realizing this sooner. He did not believe himself to be easily fooled and noted with anger that he should have been paying closer attention to these men in the barricade, as many of them had joined late in the game.

There were at least twenty comrades aiming their carbines and muskets at Javert, and both Aurelie and Eponine helped each other, a scramble of hands, until they were on their feet.

"You know him?" Aurelie asked the girl sideways.

"'Course I do," she responded. "I'm on lookout for him nightly."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Aurelie hissed.

"Because tonight I am not looking for him."

Inhaling deeply, Aurelie gripped the girls forearm and the two stepped ever closer to the many men surrounding Enjolras and Javert, nearly all of them with their guns aimed at the inspector's head.

With a firm grip on Javert's shoulder, Courfeyrac looked over at Gavroche. "Well done, my brother," he said, giving the boy a firm nod.

"What do we do with this snake?" Fueilly asked, the final word hissed into Javert's ear with enough force that droplets of saliva were spat at the man's cheek.

Composed, Enjolras' eyes travelled the bunch with their guns aimed. He was looking upon a firing squad; all it would take was his order.

When he met Aurelie's eyes, he held them. The question was ever present. He hoped that this would serve as an example of how unsafe they truly were here, but he recognized that this was not enough to push her over the edge.

With the intake of air, he brought his eyes back to the four holding Javert.

"Into the tavern," he said, gesturing with his head.

Courfeyrac and Fueilly escorted the inspector into the café with Enjolras, Prouvaire and Bossuet close behind. The rest of the street rushed to the barricade, ready for an attack.

Aurelie snuck behind with Eponine until they hovered in the doorframe, Widow Huchloup and her daughters just inside cowering behind the bar. That was when Javert made his move and threw Fueilly against the wall. Prouvaire followed as he leapt at Javert.

Enjolras grabbed hold of his shoulders from behind, but Javert deftly spun his way and punched him in the jaw. Aurelie grew cold, but it surprised her; she hadn't been all that surprised at all. Somehow she'd expected pain inflicted upon him, and if the most he took was a punch, she was blessed.

Watching Enjolras only, she saw him stumble back toward the door. It was she and Eponine who stopped him from meeting the ground, and he took no notice as to who had helped him, still needing to restrain the inspector. Enjolras calmly wiped his jaw with his thumb, looked down at the blood on his hand, then rushed toward Javert with force.

A cane was ripped away from the table near an elderly gentleman by Javert, and he swung it with all his might. It cracked Enjolras on the back before Courfeyrac took a blow on the shoulder. Prouvaire, finally having climbed to his feet, caught the end, but it was ripped away and aimed at Fueilly, who fell to his knees.

It was a scene to behold. Javert's plight was useless, Aurelie knew. He was cornered and outnumbered. But he was attempting to take out all he could, and it was difficult to restrain herself from making a go at the man herself.

Javert fell to the ground after those who had been hit synchronized their movements and attacked together, it having taken five men to put him there. Aurelie lit with a fire as Enjolras snatched the cane from Javert's cruel hands. The inspector had endangered them greatly, and they were now a far bigger target than thought before.

Tossing his grip on the cane to the middle, Enjolras swung with all his strength, striking the metal ball on Javert's head. He was out cold, the muscles in his body suddenly lax.

And all went silent.

They worked to hog tie him up with a noose around his neck so if he struggled, he would hang himself. A few minutes later and he woke, blood trickling into his eyes. His sneer returned.

"You're a spy," Enjolras said. "Two minutes before the barricade is taken, you'll be shot."

"And why not now, schoolboy?" Javert dared, hate in his eyes.

"We're saving our powder."

"Just get it over with you coward," Javert said, malice in his tone. "Take up a knife, boy."

He was goading Enjolras, and the others were falling prey, Bossuet actually retrieving a knife from the bar. Horrified as she felt, Aurelie wanted him to die. He'd already endangered them all.

But Enjolras had far too much honor for that. He tucked his knees to achieve eye level.

"Spy," he said, addressing Javert as though this was his name. "We are judges, not assassins."

Without waiting for a response, Enjolras rose and turned away. He did not beckon his lieutenants, for they would not disappoint him after this feat of strength and honor. And Aurelie caught them out of the corner of her eye beginning to back away, leaving Javert hogtied and in his noose.

What were her eyes actually upon? Enjolras of course, and his in hers until he passed by and walked out the door.

Things go horribly wrong in war, and the next was far worse than the spy.

It was only forty minutes later when a commotion was heard near the barricade in the rear, and Aurelie saw some men pounding on a door with their pistol. This did not seem to rouse the crew around her, and only two men were keeping watch at the back barricade, remaining unaffected.

She watched this transpire for a very long time, enough for them to create splinters in the door, demanding to be let in.

By now, citizens had long since locked their doors. This place was not a prison, though for the residents, their home became as much. But anyone could leave when they wished. Those who had helped the preparation did not need to fight; most could not.

She did not understand these men at the door: they were not begging to hide, they were commanding it to open. It seemed they were drunk, and she felt as though she needed to bring it to Enjolras' attention, however much of a distraction he'd believe she was. Something important was happening.

But he sat on as though nothing was happening, and it was out of his eyesight. It was interesting to see how unaffected they all were, still making jokes, passing around bread, cleaning their weapons. She'd even heard Bossuet mention her name, caught Enjolras' dagger-like eyes in his direction upon the suggestive remark.

Still, she waited. Watching.

The wood was splintering, and finally a porter opened the slot in the door at eye level.

"Messieurs, may I help you?" she heard the muffled voice ask, too far away to know if that was exactly what he had said.

"Open your door!" the man who seemed to be in charge of the three said.

There were some unintelligible words as a response, then the man once again demanded more vehemently that the door be opened.

It was when the man took his pistol from his sash and aimed it at the door that Aurelie bolted up off the pavement.

She heard the strong "No" from the porter, and eyed Enjolras, willing him silently to turn around and stop whatever was happening.

This was how commonplace the talk around here was. Even though the voices were level, the streets were so full of hollering and banging that this conversation seemed to be from outside rather than in.

"Will you or won't you let us in?"

Aurelie was in motion toward Enjolras and began scaling the barricade while her eyes darted between him and these men.

"Enjolras!"

He met her eyes, registered her urgency. Saw her gaze flick down the street.

The gun was aimed at the door and the shot was fired, piercing her eardrums in the night. The man smiled at his friends, said, "That's that," while opening the door, then dropped his spent pistol on the ground.

Enjolras and those around him instantly leapt up, the sound having caught everyone's attention. Aurelie fell against the barricade in a slump as she saw the old man collapse over the threshold, his head landing on the pavement. She was shaken, unable to believe her own eyes, the scene no more real than a travelling theatre troupe.

It seemed no more than a blink of an eye—yet she did not blink, not once—that Enjolras had arrived at the scene, Courfeyrac and Fueilly behind him. The shot had caught Combeferre's attention in a different way, and he had run into the café to collect his kit to doctor the wounded.

The lion that was Enjolras managed to catch the man at his neck and was pushing him to the ground while ordering him, "On your knees."

The man he held was far larger than Enjolras, and Aurelie finally caught her bearings and ran toward the crowd, stopping at a pole that she gripped, ready for the man to lash out.

He tried, but Enjolras had the strength of Apollo and managed to hold him down on his knees with seemingly little effort. Still the man struggled against his hold while Enjolras' locked his chin, remaining calm and wild at once. Maintaining his superhuman hold and composure.

Everyone had created a circle around the two now, and Aurelie had to dash down a few more posts until she could get a clearer picture of what was happening. Enjolras and the man had a good five meters around them in each direction, Aurelie another five meters behind.

The man began to give up his fight and looked up at Enjolras to plead.

"He wouldn't let us up," he said, now entering a fight or flight mode than Aurelie had never seen before. This man was frightened for his life, as he deserved, but at the hands of Enjolras, he certainly could have overpowered him.

But that was the magic of Enjolras; he was a god when his determination became front and center, and he could command anything.

"We came to help you! We were going to be in the windows and fire from—"

"Pull yourself together," Enjolras said, then calmly—easily—pulled the pocket watch Aurelie had given him from his vest. Maintaining his grip with one hand, the other nonchalantly holding the watch, he said, "Pray or reflect. You have one minute."

Enjolras held no gun, but the man was terrified, judged by the god holding him down.

"Mercy," muttered the man; this murderer. He then hung his head low and began to pray.

Eyes never leaving the clock face, Enjolras could hear every tick the second-hand made until it had completed a circle. He then put the watch back into his pocket as though this were any other day. Aurelie could see his anger: beneath the exterior, Enjolras was outraged.

But he maintained cool composure.

Clutching the man's hair in his fist, Enjolras yanked him upward and drew out his pistol, held it to the man's temple.

And all these intrepid men who surrounded him, those who were ready to fight to their deaths for their beliefs—for Enjolras—even they turned away.

Aurelie did not.

The explosion of the gun and the man crumpling to the pavement happened at the same time, but did not feel linked. The man fell as though the he hadn't been shot, the gun fired as though aimed at nothing, the two actions separate effects.

Straightening his back, Enjolras scanned the men around him. He could feel Aurelie, always, and she was behind his men against a pillar. He knew this without making eye contact; knew she had seen it all.

His foot pushed the body a little, still shuddering the muscle palpitations of death.

"Throw that outside."

Combeferre had dropped his case of supplies when the shot had fired, and somberly joined Courfeyrac and Bossuet in lifting the body. They shook as fiercely as the dead man they held as they tossed it over the smallest of their barricades and into Mondetour Alley.

There was no looking away, and Aurelie couldn't fathom what had just happened. There are moments you are in, and moments you are out, and this hovered in the purgatory between. Even those rioting must have felt what was happening, because the streets were silent.

She could not read Enjolras, which was unusual. She'd always been able to pinpoint his thoughts at the very moment they struck him. But now, he was ineffable.

"Citizens," he said finally, his voice loud enough to reach even those who had stayed back. "What that man did is horrifying, and what I did is horrible. It is one thing to fight fire with fire, another to murder an innocent. He shot someone, and that is why I killed him. An insurrection must be disciplined. Murder is even more of a crime here, in our redoubt, than anywhere else: we are under the eye of the revolution, we are the priests of the republic, we are the sacramental hosts of duty and no one must be able to vilify our struggle. So I judged that man and sentenced him to death. As for myself, forced to do what I did, but abhorring it, I have judged myself as well and you will soon see what I have sentenced myself to."

It was then that Aurelie realized that Enjolras had already surrendered to death. He would surrender nothing else, but death was his sentence.

She was not the only person to shudder.

"We will share your fate," Combeferre cried, the first of them to rally behind him after this horror.

"So be it," Enjolras said, nodding at his comrade. He began to move, but paused and held up his finger. "One other thing."

Her eyes begging him to stop, she did not get her way.

"In executing that man, I obeyed a necessity. But necessity is a monster of the old world, necessity is called Fatality. Now the law of progress has it that monsters disappear in the face of angels, and that Fatality evaporates in the face of Fraternity.

"This is a bad moment to utter the word love," he said, this aimed into Aurelie's eyes, and they were held firmly, as if she could tear her eyes away. "Never mind, I utter it, and I glorify it. Love, you hold the future in your hands. Death, I use you, but I hate you. Citizens, in this future there will be no darkness, no thunderbolts, no vicious ignorance, no bloody eye for an eye, blood for blood. Since there will be no more Satan, there will be no more Michael. In the future no one will kill, the earth will shine, the human race will love."

He finally turned his gaze from Aurelie to address the masses.

"It will come, citizens, the day when all will be peace, harmony, light, joy, and life, it will come. And it is so that it comes that we are going to die."

While his speech was meant to unite and encourage—it having had its desired effect on his men as they shook hands and bravo'd their efforts—it had the direct opposite effect on Aurelie. She could not even be angry. In the first time of her life, she felt the fight leaving her. All her strength evaporated and evolved into unadulterated terror.

It was then that she realized that she'd been too hopeful. For years she'd seen this as a change, and perhaps a change would come from it. But it would be at the cost of his life, her love. War can be romanticized before it's begun, but there is no enchantment once it's arrived. Everyone who surrounded her had accepted their fates while she'd been denying it from the start. It was only now that she realized the outcome, and it was devastating.

Looking around, everyone was examining Enjolras as he walked with poise and resolve back to the main barricade. They studied him in awe, the way one looks at a god. She'd seen this phenomenon before, but here it was magnified tenfold. They admired him, this executioner and priest—her love—made of light like crystal, and of rock, too.

Without turning his head, he met Aurelie's eyes as she backed into her shadows. In his heart, from here on, he would be begging for her forgiveness.


The Hopes and Dreams of a Drunk

It's easy to forget necessities while faced with war, and it was when Fueilly lit a pipe nearby that Aurelie began to cough from the smoke. This was when she realized her bodily needs and sat upright from her lean against the pillar of the stairs.

"I'll bring us some water," she said to Eponine.

"You'll bring us some wine, you mean," Eponine responded. As broken as Aurelie was feeling, Eponine looked worse. And she was quite right; they needed a drink after what they had witnessed.

Heading to the tavern, Aurelie located a bottle at the bar. She did not shirk away from the inspector when he spat on the floorboards, the saliva mixed with his blood. No matter how she felt, no matter how broken she was, she maintained her resolve. It's all you can have when you feel very little strength left. Something to keep pushing with as to not fall to your knees and sob.

She made her way up the stairs to see what had become of their playroom, their command post, their fortress. The floor was nearly empty; all but a few worn down chairs and tables that were already well splintered, and a billiards table for which she had no idea why it had been left behind. Perhaps they wished to play during the lulls, she thought while shaking her head in frustration and exhaustion.

Grantaire was draped over a table where he sat in the back, passed out cold.

Again she rolled her eyes and marched his way to be sure he was still breathing, as had been done often enough by her and others. He was perfectly well and, at the same time, pristinely broken, as was she. She despised and envied his sleep.

Just as she palmed the top of the banister, Grantaire shifted his arms beneath his head to create more of a cushion than his cheek pressed against the hardwood. Smacking his lips, his eyes began to flutter.

"Aurelie," he said with the voice of a man life had used up.

She hovered as her head tilted in pity. They held eye contact. He blinked.

She did not.

The breath she took heaved her chest upward, then a long sigh was exhaled before she crossed the room to him. Grantaire managed to raise his head and prop it up in a palm against his cheek that sent the left side of his lips upward in a sneer that was no sneer. This here was a man who had given up all hope.

Beside him now, he took his time before he spoke. Aurelie believed he had called her name because he did not want to be alone in this silence, and she did not blame him. It would not be long before he was asleep again, so she gave him her silent comfort for a few moments.

"Is he dead yet?" he finally asked.

"He is not."

"He will be."

"Perhaps," Aurelie responded, and this was said with an invisible shrug. This is not to say the thought of his death didn't sicken her, as it made her luminous soul flicker at the very idea.

But as everyone viewed her as dulcet and compassionate—viewed her as decisive and opinionated—she was also looked upon as an emotional enigma. No one could ever pinpoint how she felt behind her words, which is rare with the fragility of human hearts; emotions are worn openly and adorned across a personage. One of Aurelie's great strengths was denying any man the right to misplaced sympathy or empathy aimed in her direction. It was only Enjolras who would hear of her emotions, and when they did not come from her lips, he could feel them through their profound connection.

"He is very much in love with you."

Aurelie nodded, her secret long since given up in this late hour.

"And I with him," she responded.

Grantaire closed his eyes, soaking in her affirmation of his years of suspicion. It wounded him, but hard as he tried, he could not hate her for a victory in a race he was never a competitor in. The race had one single runner, and it was always Aurelie, and only her ever.

"He will not let me die with him," Grantaire said after a long moment, his eyes falling to the table.

"He will not let me die with him either."

Of course with a child on the way, neither she nor Enjolras would allow her to die. But in another time—under different circumstances—she was aware he would not allow her to die with him regardless. You cannot 'what if' in life, as there is no other way than the present. But let us indulge the question and ask: what if she was not carrying a child?

In their own opposite ways, they were a completion of Enjolras: Aurelie a magnifying glass, Grantaire an alternate universe. Taking a child out of the equation, they would both insist and both be denied their wish. The effect of the cause was opposite for both: Grantaire asleep with drink so he'd no longer suffer, Aurelie dynamic with determination to fight. And if given the opportunity to die beside him, Grantaire would die in a darkness of disillusion, Aurelie would die in the light of unification.

Both would do so to prove their love.

"There is a stark difference as to why," Grantaire said, and impossibly managed to slump further.

"I don't believe that's true," Aurelie said plainly.

Grantaire's pupils hit the ceiling while his lids fluttered. "He will not let you die upon the pedestal of love. He will not allow me to die under twenty leagues of disdain."

After a glance around the room, Aurelie pulled a chair from a neighboring table and placed herself directly in front of him.

"Twenty leagues of disdain," Aurelie repeated softly, these words to herself with a shake of her head, devastated Grantaire could even begin to think that way. "Allow me to explain to you the pedestal you've been placed upon, Grantaire, for I believe you may find it higher than any other man who is beside him tonight."

Though Grantaire scoffed, his eyes conveyed hope and despair. Briefly, his chin quivered as Aurelie took his free hand in both of hers.

"If he is to die, the men he stands beside had to earn his love; no easy feat, as I'm sure you're aware. He did not love any of them before a war of words. He fights for his love of the country, his demands for democracy. For a republic. He loves the masses, but individuals have to demonstrate their worth for his love. This is what makes Enjolras terrible; people crave his attention and love, yet he will not bestow it on anyone who hasn't proven themselves worthy of it."

"I have learned this already, Aurelie. I am inadequate."

Aurelie shook her head with a pensive smile. "Quite the opposite, my darling," she said. "You believe in nothing. Nothing but him, I should say. Any political statement you are presented with receives a maddening response of mockery from you, and who do you believe this inflames the most? Perhaps the man who will not tolerate any form of what he views as weakness, and let us be clear with a smile that you have them all."

This was said with an ever growing grin, and Grantaire returned it understanding that it was said out of endearment and not contempt.

Grasping his hand tighter, Aurelie continued:

"So let me return you to those men below, who are righteous and staunch, and here you and I will give them the acclaim they deserve for earning a scrap of land at the barricade in hopes of a glorious death for what they believe in. Why should we give them these accolades when you and I are denied the same?"

Grantaire shook his head at the question and shrugged.

"Because we did not have to earn his love," Aurelie stated majestically, each word receiving the punctuation of over enunciation. "He gave us his love against his will, for we had done nothing to earn it."

An idea struck her and she released his hand and rushed over to the bar.

She returned to the table with two glasses; one a hefty mug for ale, the other a small goblet for wine. She had filled each with alcohol.

"Let us put our glasses side by side, you and I," she said, situating the drinks between them so her demonstration would be clear. "What am I?"

With this, she gestured to the goblet.

"I am a woman who walked into this room. A swan, I've been called. That was all that was seen upon falling in love. Love was offered before I spoke a word, and what had I done to earn it? Nothing. Our souls connected, a divine plan perhaps. But it could be simpler. It could be that I had just looked pretty."

She fingered the top of the mug and spun it in a circle. Grinning, a clever laugh of adoration escaped her lips.

"And here I present you with Grantaire," she said as a ringmaster introduces a lion. "A mug for the man affectionately called a wine cask. You . . . you should have been tossed from here as others have for serving as a distraction and having no ideals. I give you the larger of the two glasses because of what had to be compensated by you. Dig me two holes and I'll show that the deeper one is yours, yet we both climb to the top.

"Take a look at these two glasses side by side, Grantaire," she said firmly. "Both are full. Which of these holds more drink, and I will parlay that into asking you which of these holds more love?"

Grantaire bit his lips, overcome to the point of moisture filling his eyes. He had to look away.

Aurelie, having noticed this, pushed the glasses to the side and placed a hand atop his. "You see?" she whispered. "He loves you. Love for a brother, a father, a son; these are all love's tendrils snaking in different directions. And who are we to compare an apple to an orange?"

"A fancy goblet to a mug," Grantaire said softly.

"Yes," Aurelie said, knowing he understood the analogy as well as the representation in a more literal sense. She picked up the goblet and pushed the mug his way. Raising her glass to him, she said, "And both are brimming with love, so let us drink it down at this barricade, for we know not how much longer we will have a chance to."

Grantaire picked up the mug and tapped it against her goblet, and they both took a healthy drink.

"I've always envied you, Aurelie," Grantaire said sleepily, but was determined to finish the wine that had been presented to him, never one to let a drop be wasted. "And I've always loved you through it when I should have hated you for your victory."

"And I've always appreciated the one other person who could even begin to rival the love I have for him," Aurelie said with a smile. "Love through worship is not enough. It's the struggle to earn a love that proves its depth, and I can promise you that he differentiates the two, even if he is oblivious to yours. Because it cannot be me, if he is to die and you wish to, you will have the honor of standing beside him, and you will be giving him what I cannot. I pray for his life and yours, but should the occasion arise, know that it is I who envies you."

Grantaire felt the last of his sobering moments in her words here as he widened his eyes at her austerely. Swallowed. Decided the gulp of his own saliva was not enough and chugged the rest of the wine down as he thought through everything she had said.

He noted that she was a guardian angel sent to him by God at the place God himself had forsaken. God had forsaken him long ago, he'd thought. Until now.

In silence, Aurelie sipped the last of her wine while watching Grantaire begin to fade from consciousness as his heavy head hit the table. He would raise it for a brief second, then it would fall once more upon his arm.

"Let me sing you a lullaby," Aurelie said, running her fingers through his matted brown locks. "A lullaby without a tune, a legend to send you to your dreams."

"There was a night once," she continued as she looked up and to the right, trying to recall the details and offer them to Grantaire in a way that would soothe the poor man's desperation without any exaggeration. "It was very cold with a light dusting of snow. Even the fires couldn't bring this place the warmth needed, but the drinks could. I remember how the warmth of camaraderie in this very room offered a heat none of us could find alone at home."

"Though with you he had warmth," Grantaire muttered, smacking his lips. He did not move another muscle.

"Shh, my darling," Aurelie said, continuing to run her fingers through his unruly dark hair. "It was a late night and the windows were so cold they had a ring of frost in the edges. You of course baited him incessantly and received the desired effect, and let me explain to you that with Enjolras, if he hated you, you would have received no answer ever if he did not care. Evoking a roll of his eyes is more than he gives anyone, even me."

"I'd hoped for more from those eyes."

"Grantaire," Aurelie said with a sigh. "Rest your thoughts and listen to me. You were asleep by the time the room cleared, just as you've been tonight. Only four of us were left by then and about to turn in to our cold beds to ride out the night. We began to leave, but he paused at the top of the stairs and looked at you. I'm not sure I'd ever seen that look before, and I'm not sure I've seen it since. It was a look of sadness and a look of love. He has always been endeared to you in a way I've understood clearly, and a way I've seen with no one else.

"He lingered in this, deep in thought, and for the first time in my life I did not know what he was thinking," she said. "But he turned to me then and asked: Do you have a blanket to spare? I nodded and he followed me to my apartment where I was able to locate a warm blanket. I've always had a large heart for you, so I returned with him. I stood at the stairs as he approached you and he carefully draped you in a blanket on your table, tucking in the corners the way a father tucks in a child. He watched you closely, then swept his hand through your hair, just as I am doing now. And as we left, his eyes were on you until the spiral of the stairs would no longer allow a view."

Aurelie did not know if Grantaire was asleep just yet, but his breath had evened and he was now well on his way.

"I tell you this because you should know that you have completed him in a way no one else ever could," Aurelie said, and it was one hundred percent the truth. She finally brought her hand to a rest on his crown. If he was asleep now, what she was telling him needed to be said just as much for her. "You brightened his days, and when he was not telling you off, he hid his grins. No man is impenetrable, not even one who demands the appearance that he is stone. It is love that sneaks through those walls, and you managed to not only receive his attention, you received his care that night."

Gently, she withdrew her hand and noticed that he did not stir. She sat in silence for a minute, watching the poor man as he slumbered.

"Good night, Grantaire," she whispered, then kissed the top of his head. "May your dreams bring you all that you wish and more."


The Wrong Place and the Right Time

Once she'd worked her way down the spiral staircase, Aurelie halted abruptly upon seeing Enjolras at the entrance, the door behind him closed. His arms were crossed, which made him look more imposing than he was. In all reality, he was rather thin behind lean muscles.

They were strangers in their appearance: Enjolras with dirtied hair and powder on his skin; Aurelie in the clothing of a schoolboy. Perhaps if they didn't feel each other, always, they would have passed the other by without hesitation.

But he was here because she was here, and no other reason.

"Come to kill me now, boy?" Javert asked, his exhaustion the better of him whilst still giving a good fight to the end.

"I'm not here for you, spy," Enjolras said to him, though his eyes were locked on Aurelie.

Garnering her courage, remembering how she could equal him, she pressed onward with her bottle of wine in hand. Of course she knew she could not pass by him, but she could at least appear as though she intended to.

This was the fifth time Enjolras subconsciously grabbed her arm, and she'd had it.

"You grab me again like that and I will break this bottle over your head."

As with the previous times, Enjolras realized his harsh action and instantly mitigated it. At this, Aurelie made her futile attempt to push by and open the door, bring this bottle to Eponine. Though there was really no attempt made. It was a show for him so he wouldn't see what lay beneath the surface.

"You have seen a woman die," said Enjolras.

"I did."

"You have seen me face a spy," Enjolras said levelly.

"I have."

He raised a brow over his hooded eyes. "You saw me kill a man."

"I saw you kill earlier in Bastille."

"You saw me execute an unarmed man," Enjolras rectified.

"I saw you give justice to a murderer," Aurelie calmly responded.

"Have you seen enough?"

Straightening her shoulders, making herself look just as imposing while tucking her chin, Aurelie replied:

"No."

He'd expected as much, and did not blink.

"Be prepared, Aurelie," he warned.

"I am indomitable," she stated through her teeth.

This was another moment for Enjolras. Another question if he should knock her out and drag her away out of frustration or embrace her and cradle her while speaking his words of adoration. He did not like his two choices, and was struggling with hovering between.

This went noticed by Aurelie. She could read him, hear his thoughts in real time, always.

"Have you really—" she began, matching his anger as she pointed firmly at the ground. It was her time to rally her general, and if that took a slap to his face, she was not above it. "—sentenced yourself to a death?"

Enjolras turned his eyes from her toward the wall.

This was his answer, and Aurelie stomped her foot on the ground, dropped the bottle to the floor, then gave him a shove that sent him against the door.

"How dare you!" she cried. She knew she could probably be heard by those outside and couldn't have cared any less. He would not look at her. "There are too many people who love you!"

"What I did—"

He got no further before Aurelie interrupted him.

"Pay attention! Or God help me, I will march to the top of the barricade and call for a bullet to my breast!"

Enjolras' eyes snapped to hers and he held them, wide and terrified.

"You were right," Aurelie began, her tone laced with anger though with less volume. "What you did was horrible, and what that man did was horrible, and everything that is about to happen is horrible, but you pick yourself up, and I am not saying for yourself, I am saying for us!"

There was another shove with this one, and Aurelie had become a ball that was steadily picking up its pace on a downhill slope.

"You are to pick yourself up for those who love you!"

The ball that was Enjolras was winning the race to the bottom; his teeth locked with a quivering chin. He weakly tried to catch her wrist on another shove, but missed, as he had little fight in him against the woman he loved and had destroyed.

"Now tell me you love me—"

Another shove to his right shoulder.

"—and tell me you will live for me—"

To his left.

"—and tell me you will die for me!"

He accepted his beating. He had earned it.

"For me, Enjolras, not for this country or for your selfish damnation!"

Enjolras had made a few futile attempts to catch her wrists, but it was only now that he caught them, ending up with both and gripping them tightly, pressing her fists against his chest.

"Shh," he hushed, over and over again until the fight left her. Closing his eyes, he heard a short burst of a sob from her throat the second her muscles grew lax, and he caught her in his arms just as her knees gave way.

Her hands now freed from his grip, she threw her arms around him and held him as tightly as she could. No more than a single tear had left her eyes, but her lips would not close, her mouth the distinct shape of pure anguish.

She had not expected herself to crumble; she was stone, not clay. But even marble can crack. Even marble can topple over a cliff if precariously placed, and both Aurelie and Enjolras had reached the edge now behind the barricade.

He was unable to hold her close enough, and judging by the way she clutched him, she felt the same. From one foot to the other, he shifted his weight, rocking her until her breathing steadied.

"I know," Aurelie finally whispered. She loosened her grip, though did not let go. "This is not the time or place or—"

Enjolras grasped her shoulders and held her out.

"This is exactly the place and time," he said levelly.

Yes, he thought as he studied her eyes. There is no other time.

"You told me at the church that I believe wrongly, and I am before you now to concede it," he said. "I lived a lie and forced you to suffer through it, only to make you suffer further. If I could turn back the hands of time and have a chance to right this wrong, I would hold you forever. Now I see clearly. It is too little, and too late, but it is now that I confess this and there is no other place or time more apt for me to make amends and repent. And so it is, Aurelie. I love you, I live for you, and I die for you."

Even in her cap she was beautiful, if not more so due to the significance behind it. He wanted her to run, would not stop trying. But it was her love that would not allow him his wish. He knew very well that when their timing was in sync she would leave. He understood that now was not her time.

"Say something," Enjolras prompted, searching her.

Aurelie swallowed heavily, said nothing. She held his eyes, garnered her strength and steadied her weary muscles.

She then stepped forward and brought her lips to his mouth. Nothing more needed to be said. All they needed was this kiss, in the wrong place but at the right time.

Weaving his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, he pulled her closer, pressing his lips against hers. Their timing may be off, but their rhythm was exact. They may have kept a secret, but there was no hiding how they felt, and Enjolras was done hiding. The idea struck him that someone may try to enter the café and it only gave his kiss more depth. When the notion struck him that this could be his last, he held her closer and it deepened still.

When he was reminded that she should not be here, he shut his eyes tight as could be to fight the pain of it. And he finally drew back with a nearly silent sob.

"Please leave, Aurelie," he begged, his lips no longer against hers but his grip on her neck just as firm. "I cannot bear to lose you."

"I am here for that very reason," Aurelie said, then pressed her lips to his once more.

There was heat and passion in this kiss, however no desire to take it further as there might have been in another time. Desperation for the other is more appropriate of an explanation for their fervor.

But we do no other than to tell it like it is. They were both fully aware that any second they would have to part and neither knew if there would be another time to have this sort of passion, which created a maniacal need to maintain the intensity of their unparalleled love, each believing it impossible that the other could love them more. Disaster was not a threat, it was a promise; it was only a matter of time before they were met by another horrifying aspect of war. Yes, they knew the kiss would have to end and they would have to face the barricade once more, but they refused to allow their presence anywhere else but in the moment just now. In this kiss.

And in another time and another place, they would never have stopped.