Grantaire might've been an insatiable drunk, but he was still a Parisian student. Because of that, although it was seldom that his head wasn't in a bottle or a gutter, he did still remember a few of the lessons his fancy education had given him. One in particular was about the Greek gods. And although the Greek gods were numerous, a certain few did stick out to Grantaire. They were the only few he'd talk about with something akin to faith in his voice. But why? Why would the skeptic who refused to believe even in the Christian God, or just about anything else in life, believe in a handful of Greek deities? Well, in his mind, those gods were real, and walked among him every single day. The Greek pantheon was real! It just went under a different name: The Friends of the ABC, the French Pantheon.
Their little room over the tavern was their Olympus, and the seats at the tables were their thrones! Each student was a god, one of the pantheon and a vital piece of the puzzle. Even Grantaire saw himself as such. Here, every god had a place and purpose, and was necessary to keep their Olympus from falling. And, as he watched these gods in mortal coils sitting on creaky wooden thrones over Paris, judging her, he could name every single god at the meeting.
First, there was the happy-go-lucky student of medicine, Joly.
Next, there was the unattached and unknowable Marius, restless and angry and tumultuous.
Then, there was the wild and free spirit named Gavroche, who feared and bowed to nothing except himself.
Next was the heart of the group, the one who kept the Friends together and brought fresh blood in. Courfeyrac.
Then there was Feuilly, the orphan who had adopted the world as his own and was the nurturer of the group.
Next was the innocent Jean Prouvaire, loved by all, and as sweet as could be, so childish and pure despite being the same age as everyone else.
Then there was the loud-mouthed, large-hearted, free-spirited Bahorel, traveling between the Friends and various other groups around Paris. He was an excellent conduit for communication and comedy.
Then came Bossuet, who preferred the name Lesgle, and was as unlucky as could be. Only his smile and his humors never failed him.
Next was Combeferre, wise and calm. Him, the second in command and the diplomat of the group, slow to anger and quick to intellectual debate.
And as for the first in command… Enjolras. Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras…
Despite the drunken haze clouding his mind, Grantaire studied the handsome fellow closely. There were a few differences between the Greek pantheon and this French one. The first was that not every single god matched up perfectly with a student. For example, the above stood as Apollo, Poseidon, Pan, Hestia, Demeter, Artemis, Hermes, Hephaestus and Athena. And of course, Grantaire was Dionysus. So the pantheon was still missing Zeus, Hades, Hera, Aphrodite and Ares.
Now, one would immediately assume that Enjolras would be Zeus. But Grantaire never saw it that way. For one, Zeus was infamous for having many, many, many, many, many affairs. Enjolras, meanwhile, was very vocal about his choice to remain celibate. Rumor said he'd never even held a woman's hand before, let alone gone further than that. As for Hades? Well, as serious, intimidating and gloomy as Enjolras was, his words spoke of new life, not of death or finality. And he was no Hera because, although he was a leader, he had no interest in marriage. This was also why he could not be Aphrodite. But perhaps… Ares?
In Grantaire's hazy head, watching Enjolras speak of revolution, war and freedom, always felt far more Ares than Zeus. Zeus already had total control over his world. Enjolras did not. He was still fighting for it, and fighting was what Ares did best as the God of War. Like Ares, Enjolras was aggressive, fierce, powerful, intimidating, commanding and bent on victory in combat. How many days had he spoken of battle? How many nights had he spent pouring over plans and maps? How many people had he tried to enlist and how many arms had he stolen or built? Enjolras was no Zeus, he was Ares! He was a warrior, his colors were red and black! He was no Zeus.
Even now, as Grantaire watched the beautiful young man speak passionately about the future, Ares seemed to stand right behind him, encouraging him and aiding in his war plans. Enjolras, like a general, led the troops and built the barricades. He was a God of War.
"If only," the drunkard slurred to himself. "If only the God of War would have use for the God of Wine…" He paused to take another large swig. "If only handsome and mighty Ares would look upon twisted and ugly Dionysus with need or affection. Then perhaps he could be happy…" Although to which "he" Grantaire was referring to was unclear, even to him. But what was clear was how much he adored and revered Enjolras.
Truly, in the way a worshipper would honor and serve their god, that was how Grantaire felt about Enjolras. He idolized Enjolras. Enjolras was his Ares, his white knight. He was the perfect mix of everything Grantaire wanted to have and wanted to be. He was strong, brave, proud, calm, forward, charming, commanding, beautiful, powerful, determined, faithful, dutiful and moral.
Grantaire was a dirty mess, a wad of scum in the sewers, compared to Enjolras. This thought grieved the drunkard to no end. It was part of the reason he drank. Along with his general enjoyment of alcohol, Grantaire realized that if he drank enough to put himself to sleep, his Ares would almost always show up in his dreams, and that was absolutely worth the hangover next time his eyes opened to see his Ares just as unbothered and disgusted by him as ever before.
"What a statue!" Grantaire mumbled, scoring Enjolras' almost heartless attention and praising his sculptured features in one fell swoop. He held so much raw, masculine beauty! A perfect jaw, a sharp and beautiful eye, gorgeous golden locks that looked thick and soft as the finest silk. His skin was pale and unblemished. He had muscles and an upright back. Enjolras really did look like a Greek god, especially in his fiery speeches. It took Grantaire's breath away and made him all the more ashamed when he looked in the mirror at his own palked and ugly face, sullen and empty.
Unlike Enjolras, Grantaire had no purpose. It was part of the reason Grantaire admired and adored Enjolras so much. Enjolras had so much fire and ambition and determination that it lit up Grantaire's cold and empty life and made him want to be so much more than he was. Enjolras became Grantaire's purpose, and what a wonderful feeling it was! What Grantaire wouldn't give for five minutes of Enjolras' time, just to show the heartless man how much he really cared!
But Ares only associated with his fellow soldiers. Grantaire was too drunk to even hold a gun, let alone shoot one, let alone hit a target. Ares would never associate with such a disgraceful and incapable warrior. But as Grantaire continued to think about his Greek lessons, he did remember that there was one person Ares did associate without outside of the battlefield, whom he loved very much. Ironically enough, it was one of the pantheon who had no student equivalent. It was Aphrodite.
Yes, everyone knew of the affair between the God of War and Goddess of Love. Although it was scandalous, it was faithful and it was renowned. Aphrodite seemed the only one to truly understand Ares, the only one to see behind the helmet he wore and the bloody sword he held. She was the only one to get that close to him. Not even Ares' brothers in arms knew him as well as the Goddess of Love did.
It was strange but it was real. Grantaire would've liked very much to be Enjolras' Aphrodite, but that was impossible. First off, Enjolras felt nothing for anyone. Second off, Grantaire was neither a woman, nor was he pretty. The man sulked into his bottle. But as he stared at his reflection in the dark and distorted glass, Enjolras' voice still buzzing pleasantly in his ear, something occurred to Grantaire.
The gods were known for being able to change appearances at will. Although it was common for Ares to be rugged and Aphrodite to be beautiful, it was not a law. In addition, the God of War and Goddess of Love were more than just their appearances. They were their ideologies. Enjolras was Ares not because he looked like Ares, but because he acted like Ares, warring and strong.
And Grantaire, or maybe it was just the alcohol, began to think that maybe he could be Aphrodite. After all, everyone knew love was painful and miserable, rife with strife and hardly all fun and games. There were no sweet kisses or playful tugs in true love. There was only sacrifice and suffering, but a constant desire for more. Grantaire, as a drunkard hopelessly in love with a man way out of his league, understood this all too well. If only he could just get that God of War to look in his direction and see not a God of Wine, but a God of Love.
Grantaire imagined a life where he stood at Enjolras' right, and not Combeferre. He could see himself, upright and smart, leaning against Enjolras' narrow but powerful shoulders, advising and aiding him, Enjolras nodding in agreement and even affection. It was a beautiful dream. The Gods of War and Love, happily entwined as one, because war and love weren't too different. One could cause the other, or be the outcome. They could work together or work alone, but still yield a similar result.
And as silly as it sounded, Grantaire's drunken mind finally roved over to marriage. Although he had no desire for such frivolity, he supposed it was something a God of Love ought to think about. If it were with Enjolras, it would be strange. Enjolras seemed to feel no romantic or sexual inclination to anyone!
Grantaire then realized that it was June. This month was named after Hera's Roman counterpart, and Hera was the Goddess of Marriage. Perhaps she would bless Grantaire and, against all odds, in this month of marriage, he would manage to start something with Enjolras, just as Aphrodite had done with Ares all those eons ago. If having a husband did not stop Aphrodite from pursuing Ares, daring to have a husband would not stop Grantaire. June was a powerful month, and Grantaire could feel it in his bones that this one was going to be ever more powerful yet!
"Grantaire! Put that bottle down!" Enjolras thundered, startling Grantaire awake. He was the only person in all of France with the power to not only wake Grantaire up from a drunken stupor, but to actively get the man to put his bottle down. Grantaire's body acted without his mind and he set the nearly empty drink down, pulling his hand away.
"We are trying to discuss important matters and here you are, muttering to yourself like a fool! You are a dishonor and disgrace!" the young Ares shook his head, golden curls swaying as he shut his sapphire eyes. His words were harsh, sharp as his tongue, but after spending the past half hour listening to Grantaire mumble about gods, love and war, Enjolras could take it no longer. "If you must ramble, ramble to your pillow! Go sleep off your drunkenness and come back when you understand the severity of our situation! Already, some of our allies are backing out and we are also short on ammo! Unless you know how to solve this, take your drink and get out!"
Enjolras finished his cruel speech with his eyes open again, flashing. Olympus fell silent in fear and anticipation. They had angered the God of War, a dangerous mistake. In times like this, Enjolras was Zeus and Ares combined, a terrifying and wrathful sight.
"Enjolras, you wound me greatly," Grantaire told his comrade simply. He was the only one unshaken by Enjolras' wrath. On the contrary, it almost felt nice, because it meant that Ares was finally acknowledging him. Maybe his theory about being Aphrodite wasn't so wrong after all?
"And you wound me as well, sir," Enjolras spoke gravely. "Every passing second is another bullet we could've made or another life we could've saved. Now please, unless you have something constructive to say, leave!" the young man pointed to the stairs, away from Olympus and back down to the lowly world of the mortals.
"As you wish," Grantaire stood to go, nearly falling back over until Courfeyrac and Combeferre helped him up again. Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire felt a very real pain pierce his heart. "As you wish," he repeated, far more gentle now. "But if you should ever need me…"
"I will be sure to send for a wine bottle," Enjolras finished. Grantaire's wounded expression deepened, but Enjolras had already turned away, returning to his plans for war. Grantaire was hardly aware of Courfeyrac helping him down the stairs, head still spinning with Enjolras.
"Goodnight, friend," Courfeyrac told the drunkard as they finally reached a place for him to sleep everything off.
"Goodnight, friend," Grantaire responded emptily. He climbed into his bed, Enjolras' voice still ringing in his ears.
"Oh, Enjolras, how you wound me so!" Grantaire repeated, but this time, there was no one to hear him. The God of War and Thunder had wounded him with something sharper than any sword or arrow. And now, the God of Wine and Love could do nothing but grieve alone.
Much like the Greek pantheon, this new French one was no stranger to drama and in-fighting, even between two people who adored each other more than their own lives or thrones. Grantaire could only pray to the Greek gods that June would be merciful unto them all and that maybe, just maybe, the story of Ares and Aphrodite would find its happily ever after in them.
AN: Just some philosophy and some Greek pantheon because I love Greek gods and I love Les Mis (both the book and musical) and the Friends aren't nearly as talked about as they should be (in the musical, at least).
What did you think? Who would you cast in which roles and why? Tell me in a review! Do you think Grantaire could be a God of Love for Enjolras? Also, how many of you have read the book? And do you prefer it to the musical, or not?
(Side note: I've always considered Enjolras either asexual or demi, possibly for Grantaire. And Grantaire is either gay or demi, for Enjolras).