Disclaimer: I own neither Les Miserables (property of Victor Hugo) or The Wheel of Time (property of Robert Jordan). If I was both of those esteemed authors, I would probably be patenting my time travel device rather than posting this pointless drivel...
Author Notes: I wrote this in response to an offhand comment about Enjolras/Beslan. This certainly isn't Enjolras/Beslan (if anything it's Enjolras/Grantaire...) but I thought it might amuse somebody. Warning, this is a crossover, but I've provided some helpful background info for those unfamiliar with both fandoms involved.
For Mizzies: All you need to know is that Beslan is from the Wheel of Time series, and he's very interested in mounting his own revolution.
For WoT fans: All you need to know is that Enjolras and his friends are a band of revolutionary students. And Enjolras is famous for his gold-braided red vest. Oh, and Grantaire is a drunk who only believes in Enjolras.
"It just makes me so bloody angry!" Beslan ranted as he slammed his mug down on the table in the Cafe Musain, splashing his gold-braided red vest. He wasn't quite sure how he had ended up here in the cafe, but the ale was good and the company sympathetic, even if they did have strange accents. At least they didn't drawl their words like those filthy Seanchan, and at the moment, that was enough for Beslan. "I can't believe they're actshually in power."
Enjolras nodded in agreement, happy to have found another recruit for his merry band of revolutionaries, abeit one who seemed a bit foreign. Still, the lad seemed patriotic enough, and they needed every man with true loyalty to his country. Then the people would triumph, and- why was Grantaire scooting his chair over to the newest member of les Amis d'ABC? Surely he wasn't- oh no, not again-
"A drinking contest? That'sh a splendid idea, Grantaire! Why, my friends back in Ebou Dar used to say I had a hollow leg..."
Enjolras glared at Grantaire. It was just like the man, luring the boy away and corrupting him with drink just when he was about to launch into We Fight For the Good of Mankind, Part III- it had some lovely imagery, really stirring lines, and- for Patria's sake, what now?
"Come, Apollo, join us!" came a cry from Grantaire. Beslan added his piece. "Yes, Enjolras, I wager I will outdrink both you and Grantaire!"
Really, Enjolras thought. The whole idea was ridiculous.
"I'll even give- oh- my vest to whoever downs the most!"
What? The boy was throwing away his clothing on this senseless game?
"It suits you, Apollo- you would cut a striking figure in the crimson and gold braid. Why, the National Guard would be ashamed to shoot such beauty! Join us, and win a prize befitting your likeness."
It was amazing how persuasive Grantaire could be when he wanted. If only he would use his wit for the Cause, and not for enticing decent people to engage in mindless debauchery.
But then again... it could serve as a symbol- a golden beacon of hope against the crimson blood of dying men. Yes... a symbol to stand out proudly amid the dark gloom of the battlefield! By Dieu, he would do it!
"I accept, Beslan. But on one condition- if I win this contest, you must both remain sober for a week."
Grantaire stared consideringly at Enjolras before speaking. "Ho, so be it!" he said, with renewed heartiness. "It is of no matter- I shall win the golden prize. I doubt even Beslan here can outdrink me."
Enjolras only smiled. It did not pay to underestimate the Fearless Leader when he set his heart on a goal.