AN: This is my first Les Miserables fic. I am a violinist with serious ego problems, and after seeing so many Enjolras-the-pianist fics, I decided to take the matter into my own hands. Enjoy!
One might think that he was made of stone. He was entirely still on the stage of the university's empty auditorium, the instrument clasped firmly but gently in his hands. Of course, that one might think that he was made of stone could have another meaning, but you'd have to know him to understand the second.
Slowly, he began to shift his position, until the instrument was tucked neatly under his chin. One might have wondered when the time to perfect this craft had been available to him; this was clearly a secret, and obviously not a priority. Yet, as the first d minor chord echoed through the reverberant hall and shapes began to form, one was able to overlook what small errors there were in the execution of the piece- an intonation slip here, small inconsistencies in tone- the wonder of the whole was too overwhelming to observe such trivial matters.
He did not know that he was being watched. All he knew was the sounds emanating from the pieces of wood. The minutes flew, and he put the instrument down at the closing of the piece, his breath a little more forced than what would be usual, and his eyes slightly brighter. He left the stage through the wings, leaving the half-dimmed lights of the stage to guide his observer.
Grantaire approached the stage slowly- almost reverently. When the stage was inches from his nose- eye level to him, almost, he let out a breath that he did not know he had been holding.
"He is a God, yet he plays the music of the Lord."
With that, he turned and exited through the auditorium, the ending of Bach's d minor Chaconne still ringing in his ears.