Chapter Eleven
In which very important news are announced and Marius doubts
...
"So you're telling me that's the Patria you are always going on about?"
"Yes," muttered Enjolras, taking a seat in front of the painting with a thoughtful look.
"Oh." said Éponine, falling onto a seat next to him. "She looks pretty."
The two of them sat together on a bench of the Louvre. It was an early Tuesday morning – Enjolras had no lectures that day, and had offered Éponine a quick visit to the museum to illustrate her with his limited art knowledge. They had now reached Enjolras's favourite room in the entire museum – the one solely dedicated to the most famous painting by Eugène Delacroix, Liberty Leading the People. It had been painted only a couple of years before, and had been acquired by the French State almost immediately. Although most of the people who could fully understand the meaning of the painting despised it, Enjolras found it simply fascinating – he could even say it was his favourite painting in the whole world.
Enjolras stared at the painting for a few seconds, stroking his chin with a thoughtful expression set across his face. "This is not Patria, Éponine," he said then. "It's her sister, Liberty."
"Well, they must be very alike for you to mistake them," smirked Éponine, who was looking at the painting distractedly. "I'm sure your dear Patria is even prettier then."
The Law student chuckled at this and shook his head. "Patria doesn't have an appearance, 'Ponine. She's everywhere, and yet nowhere – that's the magic of it. She can't be pretty nor ugly, although to the eyes of the French she is the most beautiful thing. In a sort of spiritual way, I suppose."
"So that's like God," whispered Éponine.
"Exactly. Like God." The rebel wrapped an arm around her shoulders and smiled. "Isn't it a beautiful picture?"
Éponine nodded silently, observing the dead bodies lying under Liberty and her followers. She couldn't help but notice how they were stepping on them, as if they were nothing. Casualties of the war, nothing more – and yet, what they called freedom was stepping over them, crushing them as if they were nothing more than a bunch of skin and bones and not real human beings. She shivered.
"Who are those, Enjolras?" she asked, pointing at the men lying on the bottom of the painting.
"Well, there's the craftsman," he said, pointing at the man with the gunfire in his hands. "He represents all of the working class. The boy behind Liberty, the one shooting at the sky, he represents the working class. He reminds me a little of Gavroche, if you ask me." Éponine smiled faintly at the mention of her little brother, and nodded. "Then, there's a bourgeois behind the craftsman, holding a flag – it represents the collaboration between different social classes, you know. And there in the background," he pointed at a fortress at the back of the picture. "That's La Bastille, the prison."
"Oh." said Éponine for the second time that morning. She gazed at the picture for a few seconds, her eyes fixed on the building, and then looked down at the corpses. "That's nice, but I meant those corpses under Liberty's feet. Who are they?"
Éponine turned her neck to find Enjolras's eyebrows knitted and his nose slightly wrinkled. "War casualties, I suppose. Soldiers, civilians – I think they're there to make Liberty's figure stand out."
"War casualties," repeated Éponine. A thought crossed her mind as she heard the words. Shetried to shake it off, but found out that she simply couldn't – what if the Amis became just a few more of those casualties when the uprising began? What if they were rebelling against a lost cause?
She rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand as she noticed how Enjolras's hand had started trembling. Deep inside, she knew he feared the moment of truth as much as everyone else did.
"Whatever happens, I will be with you," she whispered quietly.
Enjolras looked at her with a small smile and kissed the top of her head. "There are things I have to do alone, 'Ponine."
Éponine shook her head. "Not this." She cupped his face in her hands. "I love you. Didn't you know that already?"
He let her kiss his lips softly, and closed his eyes for a second. Of course he would not allow Éponine to get anywhere near the barricade – but it would be useless to argue such a thing at that peaceful time in the morning.
Little did Enjolras know, however, that he would be able to do hardly anything to keep Éponine away from the barricade.
That night's meeting went just as usually. Éponine sat at a corner of the room, eating her dinner as the revolutionaries plotted and schemed their rebellious acts. Surprisingly enough, Courfeyrac and Gavroche were not there that night – which was rather strange, seeing that the former and Combeferre where the most essential parts of the society after Enjolras. Marius was sitting by himself, enthusiastically scribbling a letter for his new beloved with the occasional help of a cheery-looking Jehan, who recited his poetry excitedly as Grantaire poured him a little bit of his dear absinthe.
"Do you know anything new about Lamarque?" asked Enjolras to Combeferre.
The Philosophy student shook his head. "All newspapers have been banned from reporting about his health, or so I've heard. We shall only find out about him when he's dead."
Enjolras nodded. He then slammed his fist against the table to catch everyone's attention. As he had expected, everyone dropped what they were doing to turn and face their leader – except the gabbing Marius, of course.
"Listen, my friends!" said Enjolras. "The time of our uprising is near. So near, in fact, that it's stirring the blood in their veins." he disdainfully saw how Grantaire took another long gulp from his bottle of wine and knitted his eyebrows. "And yet, beware – do not let the wine go to your brains!"
"We know that, Enjolras," chuckled Grantaire. "Why won't you let us have a little bit of fun?"
Enjolras frowned. "There is no time for amusement right now, Grantaire," he scowled.
"Well I'm sure you have fun with Éponine," said the drunkard, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
Éponine, who was sitting at the corner of the room, felt how her cheeks turned red. A couple of the Amis chuckled softly, although most of them were smart enough to fall silent – knowing Enjolras, Grantaire would be lucky if he didn't start yelling. Then again, Enjolras and Grantaire's had always been a rather curious friendship.
"Grantaire, I assume you are speaking nonsense because you have ingested too much alcohol," said Enjolras quietly, trying to keep himself collected. "But I will not tell you again – sit down and be quiet."
Grantaire rolled his eyes and reluctantly took a seat next to Marius, watching distractedly how the swept up lover pondered over the words of love he would use to address his dear Cosette. Enjolras shook his head disbelievingly at the drunkard and the lover, and crossed his arms as he addressed the rest of his men, "I completely ignore if any of you has a beloved, mistress or whatever the name you want to give them, but for the billionth time I will tell you that I do not care about your personal matters. We are here to talk of revolution, not pretty blondes." He glared at Marius as he said this, although the other man was so engrossed in writing his poem that he hardly bothered to answer.
"Now, about today's news," said Combeferre. "They say Lamarque's cholera is getting worse. I do not know what are we going to do when he dies – he is the only one who dares to speak for the people."
"Well, it is plain to see what we're going to do!" exclaimed Feuilly enthusiastically. "We will uprise against the monarchy, won't we? That's what Enjolras and you have been telling us for the past months!"
Enjolras massaged his temples, closing his eyes for a second. "We have to plan everything, we cannot simply start a barricade just because we feel like it. We will need time, and Lamarque might die sooner than what we've expected."
"From what I've heard, he has a very bad case of cholera," commented Joly. As the only medical student in their society, the Amis relied on their hypochondriac friend when it came to medical matters. "Perhaps he won't even last the week."
Enjolras heard how Marius let out a long sigh as he breathed in the scent of the handkerchief in his hands, with a C.F. embroidered onto it. The leader of the rebellion rolled his eyes. Although he could no longer blame Marius for being in love with Cosette – as Enjolras could say he himself was in love now – he could not help but find his lovesick friend's mourning terribly annoying.
"She's the most beautiful woman I have ever met," he heard Marius tell Grantaire, who listened with a smirk on his face. "Her lips are red, not unlike the colour of desire – and I always feel how my world goes black if she's not there."
Enjolras sighed and eyed Éponine in search for some help with his lovesick friend. The girl shrugged and smiled happily as she nibbled on a piece of cheese, mouthing, 'he's just like that'. Enjolras chuckled and gave her a small wink before turning to scold Marius.
"Marius, you are no longer a child," he said decisively. "I know that you mean it well, but we all have our personal affairs and we're still here, focused on the cause. Would you please leave that letter right now?"
Marius sighed. "There are no news, Enjolras. At least I am doing something productive with my time."
"Yes, because gabbing over a woman is so completely productive," chuckled Grantaire as he poured himself some absinthe.
Enjolras crossed his arms as he shook his head disbelievingly. His friend was definitely a lost cause. He turned around to face the rest of the Amis and said, "Well, seeing that Pontmercy is too swept up in his own love affairs, we shall discuss our plan without him."
"What happens if the people don't stir?" asked Bossuet from his seat next to Feuilly. "What if the people are too scared to fight with us?"
"The people will uprise," quipped Combeferre. "They will come when we call."
Everyone remained silent for a few moments, the words of their leader and their guide sinking in. Most of them took the idea of a rebellion with enthusiasm, although some of them, however, couldn't help but eye their leader sceptically as they silently told themselves that something was ought to go wrong were they to uprise after Lamarque's death.
"Lamarque's funeral day would be the ideal time to start the uprising," said Enjolras finally. "But then again, we do not know – "
Enjolras was cut by a door slamming open. Courfeyrac and Gavroche rushed inside, the little boy sweating and breathing heavily from a long run and the older with a solemn, dark expression set across his face. Everyone turned around to look at both of them – this time even Marius tore his eyes off his paper and Grantaire momentarily dropped his bottle of absinthe.
Courfeyrac glanced at the little boy and exclaimed, "Listen everybody!"
"General Lamarque's dead!" announced Gavroche, who did not seem to be entirely aware of the importance of the news he was delivering.
Everyone in the room fell silent. Combeferre's face went white, and Enjolras felt how his chest tightened – he had always known that Lamarque would die soon, but he had never expected to get the news of his death so quickly. He felt a mixture of feelings whirling around in his chest – confusion, anger, determination and strangely enough, fear. Enjolras had never been one to fear, but this time he knew not being afraid would be downright foolish.
He felt how Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder and was dragged back into reality. He gazed around at his friends, at little Gavroche, at Éponine – oh, for Pete's sake, he shouldn't be thinking about Éponine. And yet he saw her whitened expression, how she had dropped the piece of bread she had been eating only a few moments ago . . . he gave her a reassuring smile and briefly closed his eyes to ponder what was he going to say next. His friends wanted him to be a leader, but all he could think of right then was Éponine's horrified expression.
"His death is the hour of fate," said Enjolras finally, back to his serious, relentless tone. "He was the people's man, and it is only proper that we uprise against this abominable government on his funeral day. We will honor his name by kindling the flame of the rebellion – they will see that our new world is near!"
"The time is near!" exclaimed Courfeyrac. "Let us welcome it gladly with courage and cheer."
"Let us take to the streets with no doubt in our hearts!" followed Combeferre.
"And what about the people?" asked Grantaire, still sounding as sceptical as usually.
"They will come one and all," said Enjolras firmly. "They will come when we call."
The room suddenly broke into a chorus of urgent whispers and excited voices. The Amis roamed around the room with thrilled expressions on their faces. Feuilly and Jehan merrily discussed how excited they were about the uprising, whilst Bossuet and Joly worriedly talked about how they would have to tell Musichetta about it. Marius was frowning deeply, wondering if he should tell his beloved about the upcoming battle, while Combeferre stood by the door with Courfeyrac, his face white.
"Anything the matter, my friend?" asked Enjolras to the Philosophy student as Gavroche ran up to greet Éponine.
Combeferre gazed at his shoes. "I don't know how I'll tell Marion . . . I – what if I'm to die at the battle? What will she do?"
Enjolras gazed up at his friend and, for the first time, saw fear in Jean-Jacques Combeferre's blue eyes. The Philosophy student had always been their guide, Enjolras's closest friend and the wittiest man he had ever met. He couldn't imagine fighting without him, but at the same time knew that he couldn't force him into battle if he had a fiancé and an unborn child to take care of.
"Look, Combeferre," he said quietly, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "If you want to stay home, I'll understand – "
"What? No!" exclaimed Combeferre. "I want to fight. I always have, and I always will. After all, we all have our beloveds waiting at home, don't we?" Combeferre nodded towards Marius. "See, Pontmercy has Cosette. Joly and Bossuet have Musichetta, and you – well, you have 'Ponine." Enjolras started shaking his head quickly, but Combeferre merely snorted. "Don't try to deny it, Enjolras. You love Éponine as much as I love Marion, or as much as Marius loves Cosette. It's just you've never been one to show your emotions – and I suppose that's all right, but when the time comes you will have to let her know that you love her and that you'll come back home to her."
"And what in the bloody hell do you think I will do tonight when we get back home?" hissed Enjolras, knitting his eyebrows. He released his friend's shoulder and crossed his arms. "Look – we need you here, but you are free to do whatever you please."
"Enjolras – " started Courfeyrac, in an attempt to calm his friend down.
"No," said the leader sharply as he turned around, steering away from his two closest friends.
He angrily pulled out a chair and took a seat at the corner of the backroom of the café. The truth behind his sudden anger was that he had only just realized that he would have to leave Éponine, and that God knew if he would ever see her again. He knew it was completely selfish of him, but the sole thought of not being able to kiss her lips or see her smile made his chest tighten and wonder if he was truly ready to die for the cause.
"Hi."
He looked up to find Éponine looking at him. She wasn't smiling as usually, but had a sad expression set across her face. It broke Enjolras's heart to see her that way, but at the same time he knew that he could do nothing to lessen her bereaving.
"Bonjour," he said quietly as she pulled out a chair. He reached out to caress her cheek slowly as he said, "Today's meeting has been a bit – busy."
Éponine sighed, placing her hand on his. She knew that she wanted to help at the uprising, but at the same time saw such a devastated gleam on Enjolras's eyes at the moment that she somehow knew that it was not the moment to discuss it. "Do you want to go home?"
Enjolras looked up and saw that Marius, Bossuet and Joly had already left, and that Combeferre was muttering goodbye to everyone as he yanked his coat from the perch. It was already quite late, and Enjolras knew that they had four long days ahead of them until Lamarque's funeral – they would all need a lot of rest to be on their full senses.
"Yes," he finally answered. He stood up, offering her his arm. "I'm awfully tired. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day and I want to be ready for it."
Éponine nodded, taking his arm. She planted a soft kiss on his cheek and nuzzled against his shoulder. "Let's go."
They both said quick goodbyes to the remaining Amis and walked out to the street. Unlike most evenings, they hardly spared a word – they were both too engrossed in their own thoughts. When they were already at the doorway of Enjolras's house, he looked at Éponine with the most serious expression he could muster.
"Éponine, promise me something," he said quietly.
The girl furrowed her brow at him, knowing what he was likely to ask. However, she answered, "Whatever you want, Enjolras."
"Promise me you won't do anything silly during the uprising," he said. "Please."
"Oh." she mused. She gazed up at Enjolras for a second, and then nodded quietly. "I – I promise."
For the first time that evening, Enjolras smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead before pushing the door of the flat open. Éponine quietly followed him inside, feeling how a whirlwind of emotions crept up her chest. She had made a promise to him.
Of course, she did not count dying by her beloved's side as something silly.
I'm terribly sorry for the super-late update! I've been as busy as ever and I am afraid I will be for the next few weeks too. I believe I will not be able to update at least until the beginning of March – but at least I can promise a few more regular updates after that. After doing some math I have calculated that I will hopefully have this story done towards the end of April or beginning of May. So yeah, I suppose that's quite a lot of time for nine chapters, but that's what you get from a GCSE student writer. *sad chuckling*
Now, I am just curious – I've had an idea nagging at the back of my head for a while now, and it's an E/É WWII AU. I'm just curious – would you guys read it? Or would you rather have a sequel to this story, if I am able to pull something good out of it? Or both? Or maybe some other kind of AU? I really don't know.
Well, anyway – Courf and his three kittens ask you to review for a preview. Won't you do it for Courfey and his kittens? c:
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