Chapter Ten - Not Even You
Smiles1998: It was meant to be a little confusing. Don't worry, you'll find you soon enough!
HermsP: I assure you, I hope the Amis survive anything and everything thrown at them as well. Whether they will or not, I can't tell you. (And Bahorel has already died for good, I don't plan on magically resurrecting him, however much I love him.)
DramaRose13: Imagine High School Musical's "Start of Something New" but with "Start of Some Jehelma". And thank you for the praise!
Disclaimer: All character and novel rights belong to Victor Hugo. Song lyrics belong to the creators of Les Misérables, the musical. I own nothing except for my own imagination.
Feuilly, it turned out, had overestimated the food they would consume. He'd calculated a day without considering that they'd be fighting the entire time, and now after 16 hours of being in the barricade there was nothing left. Without food, Enjolras restricted the amount of brandy allowed to their little army (and also because Grantaire had drank most of the bottles they'd left out). Enjolras let them pass one bottle between them.
"It's a good thing Grantaire's drunk himself to sleep," Bossuet said, watching Joly take a hearty swig. "Because Father Hucheloup's wine is excellent." A couple other men murmured their agreement, thinking of the times they'd visited the wine shop without any thought of revolution or war or death.
"Even if he was awake," Feuilly said, looking up from where he was engraving some letters into the wall, "I'm the only one with the key to where it's hidden."
"He'd pick the lock," Courfeyrac pointed out. "Or he'd get Gavroche to."
"He wouldn't if Enjolras told him he couldn't," Joly said. The leader himself was currently upstairs with Combeferre, keeping watch.
Éponine shook her head with a little smile. "Gavroche doesn't listen to anybody. He does what he wants. He always has."
"Where is he, anyway?" Bossuet wondered, not seeing the young gamin among the gathered Amis.
"I saw Marius give him a piece of paper and he ran off," Courfeyrac said. "I think it was a letter."
For Cosette, Éponine thought, and for once had no ill wish against the girl. After all, it wasn't her fault she was beautiful and naturally kind to everybody. She'd even been nice to Éponine, when she and Azelma had bullied her as children.
She, however, wasn't happy with the thought of Gavroche running around without protection. She knew he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but he was known to take unnecessary risks, and after the close shave with the four Municipal guards Éponine wasn't about to take any chances. She'd already left Azelma behind at the Musain, where it was hopefully safe but out of her control. With Gavroche off to God knows where as well, Éponine felt powerless to help her siblings.
Courfeyrac caught the worried expression on her face and cast her a sideways glance. "I don't want him to get hurt, either, but I trust him to know what he's doing."
"He's very mature for his age," Feuilly supplied.
"Or we're just so immature we can't tell," smiled Bossuet.
Éponine snorted inelegantly. "Probably."
Combeferre poked his head down the stairs. "How many of you are down there?"
"Seven," Joly said, looking around. Besides the four Amis and Éponine, there were two more men that Feuilly knew from work, sitting together next to the spy. "And then there's the gendarme."
"Enjolras advises you all to get two or three hours of sleep," Combeferre relayed the message. "And we know what he means by 'advises'."
"He means 'orders'," chorused Joly and Bossuet. Éponine giggled, slightly delirious from hunger and exhaustion.
"Some sleep will be good," said Bossuet, and he promptly leaned over and closed his eyes. He bumped his bald head on a table and everyone laughed. Muttering something like "evil genius" with a sleepy smile, he drifted off to sleep, face still slightly squashed on the table leg.
They repaired the barricade and even raised it higher by about two feet. Any and all spare objects (including the closet Enjolras had wanted Éponine to hide in earlier) were thrown into the pile. The revolutionaries retired into the wine shop to have their last bit of rest. Courfeyrac and Marius alone kept vigil and they waited for Gavroche. Enjolras slipped out of the barricade unseen and prowled the streets, gathering information by the houses.
Morning came with a glorious periwinkle and rose sunrise, but no birds sang in the white light. Enjolras slipped back into the barricade through the opening and called a meeting around him and faced them all from his spot atop a table. His face was pale and seemed to glow a luminous silver.
"We are fighting against the whole army of Paris, a third of which currently surrounds this area upon which we stand. We will be attacked within the hour." He watched the crowd receive this information with a mixture of fear and thrill. "As for the people, they are not moving. THere is nothing to wait nor hope for. We are abandoned."
This news was met by an inexpressible silence. The insurgents were shocked into frozen statues. Enjolras saw Éponine's eyes alone, and they met his with a burning determination. She opened her mouth.
"Well, then let's show them what they're missing! Let's show the people that though they've abandoned us, we won't abandon them!"
Enjolras felt his own heart lift at her words and as the cheering of the crowd swelled around them he gave her a smile that only moved one half of his mouth. She returned it with a dazzling grin and raised her fist in the air, mouthing "Vive la France", followed by a quick wink. It sent him spiraling down that damned abyss and he was surer than ever he would love her until he breathed his dying breath.
But there was a message he had to give to the insurgents. "Quiet!" Enjolras called out, tearing his eyes from hers. He took a deep breath. "THere is not much chance we survive this final battle. Those of you that have a family... a wife, children, mothers to take care of... those of you that wish to leave may leave." There it was, laid out on the table before them: a chance to escape the bloodshed looming ahead. To live.
There was another moment of silence. Nobody spoke.
"We'll fight together an die together!" a man in the assembled throng called out. It was echoed by cheers.
"No!" Combeferre now shouted, standing up on the table also. Enjolras nodded, giving him permission to speak. "Do not just think of your own lives, men. And woman," he added a little sheepishly at Éponine. "You would give your lives to the République; so be it! So would I. But the lives of your wife and children! Would you leave behind a widow? A fatherless child? I have a mother and a father, but I do not think of my own. I think of yours, and therefore I am selfish! Would you also be selfish, and allow your loved ones to grieve your departure? We must not pity the dead, but the living. They suffer, we will not. Now, as yourselves again: Will you leave us for them?"
Courfeyrac then stood on a chair, so that he was also elevated. The true centre of the Amis stared straight at Combeferre and Enjolras in defiance, dark curls fanning out in a halo around his head so that it resembled a lion's mane.
"How can you ask us to flee from the revolution? We know we have families, and people that love us. They are who we fight for! We fight for freedom and equality; if we left, what would it do for them but let them continue on prisoners of the law? They would not be free, and they would still not have the rights they deserve! We fight not for ourselves, but for France. And thus, we are not selfish by staying. We are selfish by leaving!" Courfeyrac, in the heat of the moment, leaned over and wrenched the red flag from where it lay on the barricade, and held it over it head. "VIve la France! Long live the revolution!"
Combeferre, who easily accepted defeat when he saw it, laughed out loud and the two men leapt off their respective pedestals and embraced each other in a brotherly hug. Enjolras patted their backs with a wide grin. "Brilliant," he told them with a chuckle.
Someone else began to sing in a clear, young voice. It was Gavroche, who had slipped in unseen. He gave a quick nod to Marius to show he had delivered the message. Stepping into the middle of the circle, he lifted his head proudly and sang the very song Prouvaire had written to lift their spirits:
"Do you hear the people sing?
Singing the song of angry men?
It is the music of a people who
Will not be slaves again!"
The other Amis joined in and eventually the entire group of tired, hungry, hopeful young men were singing a ragged yet enthusiastic rendition of the song their beloved late poet had written.
"There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!"
The song ended prematurely when a sentry let out a warning shout.
"Here comes a man in uniform!"
At once about fifteen muskets, pistols, and carbines were directed at the man in army gear, standing near the entrance. His face was hidden by a shadow, but his hands were raised in a gesture of compliance.
"Approach and show your face," ordered Enjolras, pistol fixed firmly on the figure. Éponine gripped her knife tightly.
The man came into the light and Éponine frowned. She'd seen the man before, but where? "I come as a volunteer," he said slowly. He had a deep, reassuring voice.
"You wear an army uniform," Courfeyrac said, bayonet just five inches from the newcomer's head. "Why should we trust you?"
"The uniform is why I was let through," he explained, arms still up. Éponine saw no weapon on his belt and her eyebrows shot up in confusion. Who volunteered for a revolutionary battle with no weapon?
"You've got some years behind you, sir," Joly said. It was true. The man's once-dark hair was grey and he had wrinkles along his face and hands.
"There's much that I can do," said the newcomer.
"We had another volunteer, named Javert," Courfeyrac said, menacingly. "He was a spy and now he's bound to a table downstairs."
"You see why we don't trust a volunteer," Combeferre said more calmly. He will face death, Monsieur. I am sure you won't want the same fate."
"I know this man!" Marius cried out, making his way to the front of the crowd. As soon as Marius said it, Éponine realised she did, too.
She tugged at Enjolras' sleeve. "He's a trustworthy man; it's true," she whispered, as Marius stood by the volunteer.
"His name is Monsieur Fauchelevent, a philanthropist, and he is as good a man as any."
Éponine remembered him clearly as the man her father kept running into and trying to fraud. He was the man who had bought Cosette. She also walked up to him, a small apologetic smile on her face.
"Monsieur, I believe you know my father," she said.
He looked at her. "Do I?"
She took off Gavroche's hat, and waves of dark hair tumbled down her back. "My name is Éponine Jondrette, but before that it was Éponine Thenardier."
Fauchelevent was now looking at her with renewed interest. "Ah. I do remember that name."
"I'd like to apologise for the crimes my father committed against you."
He looked doubly surprised. "Well, tell him he is forgiven, and that he should not feel the need to return any of the francs of given him as debt."
Éponine smirked. "I don't speak to him anymore, but I'm sure he wouldn't return a single sous even if you asked for it."
Fauchelevent smiled at her, and he had the sort of smile that comforted anyone it was directed at. "I'd imagine not."
There was a rustle in the barricade above them, and all of a sudden the elderly man had taken Courfeyrac's musket and pointed it at the top right corner of it. He fired a shot, and they heard the sharpshooter tumble back down the other side of the barricade. The sniper had been aiming at Enjolras.
"I owe you my life," said the leader gratefully. "Ask for anything you'd like, and I'll give it to you, as long as it is within my power."
"Just the spy," Fauchelevent responded. "I can take care of him."
Enjolras eyed him carefully, and then nodded. Éponine thought she saw his face flash relief that he wouldn't have to kill the man himself. "Be my guest," he said, and gave him a pistol and a knife.
Fauchelevent nodded at them and went into the basement.
Éponine closed her eyes when they heard the shot.
The next battle started in the afternoon of the same day, when the heavy artillery arrived. Their barricade withstood the first wave of cannon balls, but it was evident it was not going to take a second.
"Fire!" Enjolras cried, and the insurgents fired. Twenty-six of the gunners fell and the other side hurried to replace them. Joly and Combeferre ran about, helping bandage and stitch up the injured. Five others, including Fauchelevent and Éponine, reloaded the muskets and handed ready ones to the awaiting revolutionaries.
Enjolras glanced back at the enemy. They were preparing for another volley.
"We need to find a way to fortify the barricade!" Bossuet shouted from the back, where he picked up a new carbine from a law student.
"We're working on it but we'll need more time!" came the voice of another man, somewhere from the far left. It was Paquet, a seller of firewood who had a stall near Feuilly's.
More time, Enjolras thought. He looked through a gap at the gunner currently loading a cannon. The gunner was an artillery sergeant, young, no more than twenty-four. Enjolras drew his pistol and placed the end of it in the gap.
"He could be your brother," said someone next to him. It was Combeferre, watching his commander aim at the young man.
"He is," replied Enjolras. His jaw was tense and his mind was both scarily still and buzzing with activity. He held the pistol steady.
"Then don't shoot him. Spare the man." Combeferre knew it was useless, but he said it anyway.
"Leave me alone. We must do what we must." Enjolras pulled the trigger, a lone tear making a line of marble skin through the dirt on his cheeks. The sergeant staggered with the impact of the bullet and flopped back on top of his own cannon, blood flowing from the wound in his chest.
It bought them a couple more minutes. In that time they found several mattresses they flung over the barricade so that they lay against it on the other side.
"Hopefully that is enough," Feuilly said, reloading his own pistol.
"It will have to be," Enjolras answered.
When the cannons, fired, the balls thudded against the mattresses with no ricochet, rolling harmlessly back down the slope.
The barricade was safe.
"We are running out of ammunition," Enjolras announced, as the revolutionaries reigned in their bearings from the previous attack and took stock of what they had.
Éponine had quickly learned of this when she reached for a ball to load into the musket and realised her hand could touch the bottom of the bag. There would be about eight shots per person before they ran out completely.
"I can go outside and gather some off the dead guards," Marius offered.
Fauchelevent immediately stepped forward. "No, let me. He is young and has a life ahead of him. I am old and you could go without me."
Enjolras shook his head at the both of them. "I will not take that risk."
Éponine heard a cry that made her blood run cold in her veins.
"You need someone quick, and I volunteer!" It was her brother, launching himself onto the barricade and climbing over it.
"What are you doing? Get down!" Enjolras commanded, but he did not halt.
"Someone stop him!"
"Gavroche, come back!"
"Gavroche? Oh, God, Gavroche, no, no!" This last frenzied scream was Courfeyrac, and he charged for the barricade and tried to climb after the nimble gamin. Joly and Marius restrained him from going any further.
Éponine had frozen in horror, staring up at her brother. She watched him disappear down the other side. A second ticked by and there was a shot. She scrabbled up to barricade also. "Gavroche Thenardier, you better come back right now!" she shrieked, foot slipping on a particularly velvety armchair.
Gavroche was singing a song, one that he'd made up on the spot, as he filled up his basket with ammunition.
"Little people know when
Little people fight,
We-"
The boy jumped when there was a shot. It hit a grandfather clock behind him. He turned and gave the army and enormous mocking smile, slowly reaching down to pick up his basket again. The entire barricade were staring at this appalling display of fearlessness.
"We may look easy pickings
But we've got some bite!"
This time he was hit. Gavroche staggered back a few steps, clutching his basket tightly in his little hands. The revoulutionaries let out a cry of alarm. Courfeyrac struggled against Joly and Marius, and Éponine swore loudly as her fingers nearly slipped off the cabinet she was holding onto.
Gavroche clutched at his wounded side while he dropped a bag of gunpowder into the basket.
"So never kick a dog
Because he's just a pup!"
A bullet implanted itself into Gavroche's leg with such force that his feet were sent flying from under him, and he fell face first into the floor. Checking that his basket was full, he flung it over the barricade as he kept singing, voice hoarse with pain but still taunting the enemy.
"We'll fight like twenty armies
And we won't give up!
So you'd better run for cover
When the pup grows-"
The final gunshot hit the twelve-year-old in the chest. Gavroche faltered, face still twisted in a humour-filled grin as he fell back, blood flowing from his body.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her back down, but not before she saw her brother falling to the ground to join the other dead bodies. She screamed in agony, the loss filling her so to the brim that she experienced a sense of horrible, pure emptiness.
The arms around her kept their hold. Someone was shouting her name, but it sounded like it came from very far away. Éponine could just see the sobbing Courfeyrac on the ground, and vaguely wondered if she should join him there. Her own eyes were dry. She had no more tears. There was so much misery it was near unbearable, and she had never wished more that she could just fall into the void and forget about it all.
Except, someone was keeping her away from the edge.
She looked down and saw that it was none other than Enjolras holding her. This information came to her with a shock and all of a sudden she became aware of the world around her.
There were people running out of the barricade, ignoring the bullets, to get Gavroche's body. Courfeyrac was one of them, and now he was sprawled over it, wailing her brother's name. Over it all she heard someone screaming, high, keening, and hair-raising.
She realised it was herself partly because she was the only one in the barricade who could make that high a sound.
Éponine stopped shrieking and turned into a quivering mess of disheveled hair and quick, pained gasps. She pressed herself into Enjolras' chest and burrowed her head into his neck. His arms hadn't moved, except to hold her tighter.
It was he who had been shouting her name but now he was whispering it in her ear. "Ponine, Ponine, Ponine," he recited, and with each repetition of the word she felt herself calm down, and the more she calmed down he loosened his hold on her.
"Gavroche," she said once his released her, azure eyes still fixed steadily on her own. Enjolras didn't say a word but broke their gaze and stepped to the side. There, lying not far from them, was her brother.
Éponine's eyes grew round and she stumbled forward, arms outstretched. "Gavroche," she repeated, falling to her knees next to her brother. "I told you to come back," she said in a scolding, motherly tone. "Why did you do it? You brave, stupid boy." She stroked his cheek with one dirty hand.
Courfeyrac knelt next to her and she took off the vest, laying it over Gavroche. She suddenly remembered the owner of the vest. "I hope you don't mind," she said distantly.
She felt a large, calloused hand clasp her own. "No," Courfeyrac replied. "I would have given it to him anyway."
"Thank you for being his big brother, Courf," Éponine said, transfixed by the still form of the boy.
"Not a good one," he said, voice cracking. "I let him to this to himself."
Éponine smiled humourlessly. "Don't you remember what I said? Gav doesn't listen to anybody. Not even me. Not even you."
AN: Ahh! I'm so sorry about this, but really, I want to be as canon as possible.
Did you spot the reference? (And for the record, I think Combeferre or Valjean would both make excellent Dumbledores.)
Also, did I mention how much I loved all of you?
