AN: What's up, everyone? I apologize (again) for my extended absence; I don't have any time to update during the week because of school. On the bright side, I think I put up this chapter faster than I put up Chapter 8, soo… don't kill me, please.
I also apologize if this chapter came out a bit weird. I wrote half of it at school and the other half at 10:30 at night last night, so it makes sense if some of the chapter...doesn't make sense.
Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables. Surely everyone knows that by now.
Enough! Dost thou not tire of my incessant prattling? Onward...to Chapter 9!
The next morning, Tamar woke with the sun, and threw the blankets off. Arching her body like a bow, she leaped out of bed, and noted with satisfaction that any lingering pains from yesterday seemed to have vanished.
She ran lightly to the window and opened it wide, leaning out to fully absorb the cool morning air.
It was so early that Paris was still and hushed, like a dream-town. The rising sun cast blurred shadows on the buildings and streets, and in the dim light, Tamar could see ragged forms huddled in doorways and alleys.
The oppressed. Of course she had seen the destitute before; they were everywhere. But the poor of Paris seemed particularly worn and hopeless.
Tamar felt a twinge of guilt. She might walk the streets like any vagrant, but at least she had decent clothing, and a means of income to procure food and lodgings. She probably lived like the bourgeoisie compared to the people she could see on the streets now. No wonder they hated the monarchy.
A dark flash on the horizon drew Tamar's attention away from the street. Singing merrily, a lark dipped and weaved through the sky, and came to rest on top of the shutter. Humming softly, she crept towards it, grinning when the songbird hopped onto her finger. The lark flapped its wings, seemingly pleased with its new perch.
"Bonjour, petit," she whispered. "And how are you this morning?" The bird tipped its head to one side and trilled. "You're fine, yes? Birds don't have to worry about the troubles of men."
Bird and girl regarded each other curiously. After a while, the lark got bored and trilled again, moving its little feet restively on her hand.
Tamar laughed. "Stay still, alouette." The bird pecked her finger. "Bâtard."
She glanced back into the room, and smiled slyly. The bird, sensing her mischievous mood, hopped up and down.
"Venez avec moi, petit. We have a revolutionary to wake up."
Tamar tiptoed out of the room, humming again to keep the bird calm. The hall was still dark, but she could hear sounds coming from Enjolras's room The bird whistled.
"Shh. You have to be quiet, petit, or this won't work." It nodded its head. "You understand? Good."
A door opened and closed. Probably le salle de bains...perfect. Tamar slid into Enjolras's and hid beside the closed bathroom door. Ten minutes later, Enjolras walked out, damp and shirtless.
"Fly, petit!" she whispered, and threw up her hand. The bird flew up over the door, straight towards Enjolras's head.
"Merde!" Enjolras ducked, but the bird dived at him again. "What the- fils de pute!"
Tamar couldn't hold back any longer. She burst out laughing, falling to her knees. Red-faced, Enjolras spun around; his blue eyes widened, then narrowed angrily.
"Tamar, you- why did you-" The bird, seeing his attention diverted, sat on his head. "Argh!"
Tamar wiped her eyes. "Enjolras, that was brilliant! Your face was priceless!"
The revolutionary swatted at the bird. "That wasn't funny, mademoiselle," he snapped.
"Someone's irritable today," she replied, still laughing.
If it was possible, Enjolras looked even less amused. "What are you wearing, mademoiselle?"
"What kind of question is that? I'm…" She looked down at herself, suddenly realizing that she was still in her underclothes. "Oh."
Enjolras cocked an eyebrow.
"I just woke up," she said defensively.
Both eyebrows raised.
"Don't look at me like that. Might I point out, monsieur, that you are only half-clothed yourself?"
"I do believe, mademoiselle, that it is somewhat socially acceptable for men to be seen shirtless throughout Europe," he replied sardonically.
"It matters not! At least we both have an excuse. You evidently, have just bathed, and have not yet had the chance to dress."
"And whose fault is that?" Enjolras muttered, stepping away to grab a shirt from the wardrobe.
Tamar put on her most innocent expression "Not mine, I hope."
"Hmm." Enjolras did not speak as he dressed, but instead concentrated wholly on buttoning his shirt and lacing his black boots. "And yours?" he inquired after a time.
"My what?"
"Your excuse for your state of undress." The student put on a black waistcoat and a dark green jacket, both of which hugged his slim frame incredibly well, and contrasted nicely with his tan trousers.
"I told you. I just recently awoke-"
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" he scoffed.
"Don't interrupt! Yes, I do expect you to believe it, because it's true. I simply woke, and forget to dress.
"I would have," she added when he opened his mouth to speak again, "but this prank distracted me, as you are doing now."
With a wink to show that she was teasing, Tamar slipped out of Enjolras's room before he could blink. She laughed lightly as she entered her own room- she could hear her housemate muttering angrily under his breath.
Nothing nice to say about me, I'm sure, she thought. Ah, well. That joke did him good. She grinned, imaging the faces of the amis when they heard about this. How they would laugh! It was almost enough to make her feel sorry for Enjolras. Almost.
The lark was outside now; it had evidently tired of Enjolras's room. Tamar crossed to the window.
"Au revoir, petit!" she called. Merci beaucoup!" The bird trilled one last time before disappearing into the orange Parisian sky.
Turning away from the window, Tamar picked up yesterday's clothes and tossed them onto the chair; she'd wash them later. Bending over, she pulled some light brown pants, a white shirt, and a pale blue waistcoat from her trunk, and set them onto the bed. After washing up and combing her hair, she quickly dressed, and hopped to the kitchen, lacing up her own black boots as she did so. Enjolras was already there, boiling some water.
"Good morning," she said, as though their earlier incident had never happened.
Enjolras nodded at her, but did not look up from his book. When the water boiled, he took it off the stove, ground some coffee beans, mixed the brew, and returned to his reading.
"What is that book?" Tamar asked, slicing some hard cheese and a baguette.
"A military history of France," came the curt reply.
"Sounds very interesting." She offered the plate of bread and cheese to the student, but he shook his head.
"Indeed." Suddenly, Enjolras glanced at his watch and stood. Draining the rest of his coffee, he set the mug on the counter and grabbed his leather bag, shoving the book inside it. "I am sorry to leave so abruptly, but I must be going."
"Going where?" Tamar asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew.
The look Enjolras gave her told her that he too, thought she should know. "The university."
"Now? It isn't even six o'clock!"
"Yes, now." That impatient edge from yesterday was back in his low voice. "I have morning classes today, and three exams this afternoon. I need to study."
"Do you?" Tamar stood, eyeing his in disbelief. "And just how do you expect to do well on an exam if you've had nothing by way of nourishment but half a mug of coffee?"
"How do you expect to take on five men in a fight if you've eaten nothing for two days ere the encounter?" he retorted, eyes flashing inexplicably.
Tamar gritted her teeth. That was a low blow, and Enjolras knew it. "That's different," she replied, feeling her anger grow.
"Is it?" Enjolras's voice was rising. "How?"
"I had no choice!" Tamar snapped. "I'm used to it!"
"That doesn't make it right!" The two combatants were close now, with Tamar having to stare up to meet Enjolras's smoldering dark eyes.
"If you think," she said coldly, "that refusing to take care of yourself is somehow going to help the people. then you're wrong. You're wrong, do you hear me?!" She was yelling now, her voice cracking out like a whip. "You will never understand their suffering! You will never feel their despair! You will not save them!" She took a step closer to him, her eyes level with his tanned, olive-toned throat.
"You will not save them," she whispered, spent. "They will not listen."
"No." Enjolras was whispering now, too. "No, it is you who is wrong. I do feel their pain. Every day, I feel their pain." He closed his eyes, turned away from her "Every goddamned day."
He whipped back around, and there was no fire in his eyes now. Only ice. Cutting, burning ice.
"How can you understand what I feel? You speak as you do because you are one of them. You are one of them, and you sympathize. How do you think I feel, watching these people suffer, knowing that I will never truly understand? Knowing that I am powerless to stop it?"
Tamar didn't reply. She couldn't. She could only, and Enjolras advanced towards her, the ice giving way to fire once more.
"I know I am powerless! Alone, I have no strength! But I am not alone! I have others who will aid me in my cause!" He drew himself up to his full height. "I will see this suffering end!" he roared.
Enjolras was, at that moment, reminiscent of a saint- a warring angel banishing a demon to the darkest depths of Hell and beyond.
"I will see it end," he repeated softly, "or so help me, I will die trying."
Still Tamar said nothing. What could she say? She had misjudged the strength of Enjolras's passion, the depth of his faith. She had misjudged him.
"I don't doubt it," she whispered. Brown eyes locked with blue, and at that moment, every bad word between them- all the tension, all the doubt- it all disappeared. "I have faith in you. And I swear to help your cause in any way I can."
"You already have." Enjolras took her hand, bending down to look straight into her eyes. "You already have."
AN: Wow. That was intense. I thought that last night, and I'm thinking it again now.
Translation time!
Petit- Little one
Alouette- Lark
Bonjour- Hello or good day
Bâtard- Bastard
Venez avec moi- Come with me
Merde- Shit
Fils de pute- Son of a bitch
Au revoir- Good-bye
Merci beaucoup- Thank you very much
A note on Enjolras's appearance: I know that many accounts describe him as having pale skin, and presumably, pale blue eyes as well. I took some liberties, here's why:
Remember how in chapters 1 and 3 I described him as having 'sea-blue eyes?' Readers are free to imagine sea-blue however they want, but I picture it as being a rather dark dark blue-green. Therefore, his eyes can be described as dark.
In this story, Enjolras is from Bergerac, which is in the south of France. People from the south tend to have dark hair, skin, and eyes, possibly because of Moorish ancestors. Since Enjolras has blond hair and blue eyes, he is presumably not Moorish, but he still has the tanned, olive-ish complexion of the South.
That's all for now. Remember to review! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you thought was funny, or what you read and thought, "Heck, no." Also, if you want to see something in a later chapter, put your suggestions in a review, or PM me, if you want. I'll see what I can do!
Auf Wiedersehen! Au revoir! ¡Adiós!
