A/N - And here is the first ever Jehan chapter! The poem is all Jehan's invention, so I hope you enjoy. :)
Adoremus - serenity adores her
Adoremus - peace nestled in her hair
She sends kisses to the earth like swallows
Featherlike, whispering, so her name follows
to earth in a hunger of yearning for us
Our touch, our warmth, our carress, so - like lovers
we blend, sharing air, sharing heat. She dying
but a little, to melt around us, leaving
Swallow wings and softly diamond kisses
and those sighing pleading loving whispers
We, the hard-hearted, shake off her mantle
and like an Ajax or Achilles we hail
Her death and killer, Spring, leaving her arms
For his caressing, his winsome charms
Dancing and laughing while she dies again
Gathers up her shattered pieces, to wane
Moon-like, hopeful even in timely death
That next turn of the world her whispered breath
Will win us at last
to Adoremus
Adoremus
and Requiem.
Jehan-Marie put his pencil very carefully down on a patch of grass that was struggling through the thick, cracked surface of the gravestone. He had been on his way to - something. Class, most likely - oh yes, almost definitely class when he had decided to walk through the graveyard and re was the headiest rush of spring perfumes and sights and sounds that he had seen all week - how could he not stop and write something? Even this little - rather poor effort scribbled on the back of his lecture notes... he patted the paper and slipped it into his satchel, running his hands over the cold stone and the damp new gras musingly.
if Enjolras would not find it completely frivolous as a comparison, he would have compared the heavy rigidity of the stone to the government, and this spring-like life cracking and pressing and just living its way up and out of the stone into the sunlight was the freedom in the hearts of the people that could never truly be subjugated, no matter how heavy the boot that trod them down.
Enjolras. Dieu, he had some names to deliver. He should drop by now that he was irredeemably late to his class. Jehan sighed and picked up his pencil, sticking it behind his ear for proper safe keeping since they always seemed to get irrevocably lost in the depths of his bag. He didn't know what. Perhaps pencils simply were better at escaping bags than they were at escaping from behind ears - or maybe it simply didn't want to hurt his feelings by blatantly abandoning him right before his eyes.
He got up, smiling a little at himself. Nonsense. Nowadays it seemed that everything was coloured with nonsense. People out of storybooks appearing in masks to whisk them away from danger and then disappear completely before they could be thanked. it was almost garish, and in a way Jehan didn't like it at all. There were dreams and there were dreams - some of them were like the dreams that turned into poetry in the borders of his class notes, some of them were like Enjolras' dreams - the kind that would become reality soon. But this strange twisted dream fantasy that M. Scaramouche and his friends were weaving about their lives wasn't healthy - there was too much of the storybook in it, too many big bright colourful pictures like in a child's fairytale where a house always had a chimney and a straw roof, and a church was all stained glass and cross and spire.
While he was charmed by the idea of a fairytale hero stepping out of the pages of his novel and sweeping into reality to right wrongs and save lives and change the fabric of reality into something less like cotton and more like tapestry - M. Scaramouche with his masks and his strange knowledge of their doings and his seeming complete disregard for his own safety seemed to take it a step too far. Jehan knew that you couldn't really afford to mix fantasy and reality when you were dealing with something as important as people's lives - or The People themselves even. Not to this extent. It was - well, it was at least unwise.
At the very least it raised hopes that whenever there was trouble, M. Scaramouche would be able to smooth it all away with a sweep of his magical hand. Maybe he would be for a while, like the sunshine was for a while enough to dry the rain for the streets. But the rain would fall again and sooner or later something would happen which Scaramouche would not be able to fix - or would not even know about, and any faith anyone had in him would be broken into little bits. Rather like shattering a stained glass window - the fact that the glass was coloured and full of pictures somehow made it so much more iredeemably broken.
Better to help men to help themselves than to do all the helping for them and leave them lost and scared when you were gone.
With that thought in mind, he gathered together everything and set off for Enjolras' apartment. At least in some small way he could help to make sure that the people would be able to help themselves with or without a hero from a picturebook.
By the time he was pushing the half-open door a little more ajar, he was actually a tiny bit worried about whether or not this would be enough work to quite explain his frequent absences lately. Schoolwork had been difficult this term and his step-father was insisting he produce slightly better results than a 15 average or he would be recalled to the country for private tutoring. "Enjolras?"
Surely he was home, his door was open. There was a sound of movement and then a voice which was not Enjolras' at all said "Jehan! Get out of here!" and he froze. That sounded like...
"Combeferre?" After all, this was Enjolras' apartment, it wasn't particularly odd of him to be expecting Enjolras to be here and Combeferre to be - well - in his own apartment, was it?
Another noise and then a hulking shape moved into the visible part of Enjolras' rooms... dear god. It was the spy. The door moved open further and Jehan could see behind him Combeferre - just a sliver of him - on a chair. Tied up, by the look of it - and he could stay here and try to fight this man or he could run and warn Enjolras... because if he failed to win then Enjolras would be the next to be captured... It was a choice between his own sense of honor and what was proctical, what was necessary - between Combeferre and all of them.
It was horrible. It even hurt, but he turned and he ran and the man didn't catch him. Feet followed only for half a street before there was nothing but the pounding in his ears and the consciousness that he had left Combeferre behind.
He ran to the Musain and found Enjolras in the back room poring over some notes. "Enjolras..." Jehan paused, hand on his knees, catching the breath that had been ripped out of him.
Enjolras looked up and raised an eyebrow curiously. "Prouvaire."
"Pardon..." at another time he might have almost been awed by how completely calmly Enjolras had taken his rather dramatic entrance. Nothing seemed to shake that calm - except maybe Grantaire sometimes. When he was being very very silly. "I have bad news."
The golden head raised and Enjolras gave him his full, if not particularly worried attention. "What sort of bad news?"
"...I was attempting to visit you at your apartment." it wasn't bad news about a play of hugo's being repressed or a small child who had no shoes this time. Jehan wasn't sure whether he should feel relieved that for once he really had something completely and utterly important to recount, or ashamed that he was the one bringing the news while Combeferre was... Dieu forgive him, who knew where Combeferre was now? "I found - the government spy there, the one Scaramouche revealed to us. I believe it must have been a trap. He had Combeferre with him, tied up. I ran as fast as I could to get here."
"He had Combeferre." Enjolras blinked, sitting up very straight and going rather pale all at once. Jehan could only nod slowly, waiting for that horrific truth to sink in with everything that it implied, including the fact that he - Jehan Prouvaire - had left Combeferre behind in danger to carry this message. Finally Enjolras shook his head and murmured "My god."
His breath was coming easier now, so he could be completely absorbed by the terror that he had done the most dreadful thing in his life and now Enjolras - who was the most brilliant person Jehan had ever met - would think him stupid and weak and cowardly and everything else which he probably deserved... "I - thought it more important to warn you..."
Enjolras didn't even seem to hear this. "Tied up... were you seen, Prouvaire?"
"Both of them saw me, Enjolras," he nodded a little. "I was just out on the step. The spy tried to get at me but Combeferre yelled to run and he couldn't catch me."
Enjolras acknowledged this with a dip of his head, running one hand briefly over his face. "Damn it, Eugene..." Enjolras never used Combeferre's first name - or so close to never that Jehan could only remember it happening twice before. "So..." he continued finally in a heavy voice. "You were not followed - otherwise I'm sure we'd both have been arrested by now - and he had Combeferre a prisoner."
All Jehan could do was nod slowly. That, and try to apologise for his stupid mistake in - leaving Combeferre behind, was that even a mistake? No, surely it was a crime. Combeferre was a kind, intelligent, perceptive man who was much more use out in the world helping people than - oh dieu, this was terrible. "Enjolras, I'm sorry."
Enjolras looked up and did not have any condemnation in his eyes, which was possibly worse than if he had. "It's not as if you could have accomplished anything alone against him."
Jehan nodded because Enjolras had said so, but doubts flurried in his mind like sharp scathing bits of poetry that would never be written because they were too horrible to translate onto paper. He could have fought, he could have lured the man out of the house and assailed him - trapped him - tripped him - anything. There were too many what ifs. "Can I do anything to help?"
"We need a plan to help him," Enjolras said steadily, looking out into his special part of the distance where he seemed to find all answers to their problems.
Jehan found himself saying it before he could even really think about what he was saying. "We could ask... Harlequin?' because it turned out that he was one of those people who were lost and helpless when the world fell apart and just as quick as anyone else to try to get a prayer in to the masked hero who might be able to make it all better.
"Of couse," Enjolras said after a moment's pause. "Joly can contact Harlequin, who can contact Scaramouche, who has helped us once when we were pitted against this foe and may help us again."
It was true. "I could go ask Joly." Let me do something, please.
"You can handle it?" Enjolras asked with mild concern, looking at him as though perhaps this was indeed in question now.
Jehan felt his whole face go pink, he just knew it was. Oh dear, oh dear. Enjolras please don't tell me you've lost all faith in me completely... please. "...yes, of course.
"Good." Enjolras seemed satisfied with this, sighing and crumpling a few of his papers into tight balls. "All right, thank you. Return here when you have your results, please. I don't have anywhere I'm going."
"Of course, Enjolras." He nodded and slipped out and hurried towards Joly's lodgings, barely taking any notice of where he was putting his feet in his determination to be quick and manage this little task at least. Perhaps that would begin to make up for what he had done to poor Combeferre.