Chapter Thirteen: Plans to be Shattered

The night was still and quiet, several men asleep in one small flat, bedded in among the makeshift pallets that were scattered around the rooms. Gavroche had scooted his way out of the flat some hours before, leaving the elder men to their sleep as he prowled the night. His yes, though sharp as they were, missed the movement that seemed to be closing in around Les Amis.

The moon's beams were shining through the open window in Enjolras' bedroom, illuminating his face and making it difficult for the exhausted man to sleep. That, and the fact that everything seemed to be running at the utmost speed. How could he have though that once they won they would have had a nice coast downhill? It was the battle that was the hardest part, after all, wasn't it?

"Can't sleep, Apollo?"

Enjolras started at the voice in the darkness, turning to see a pair of dark brown eyes looking up at him from his pallet on the floor. Those eyes, normally bloodshot from too much drinking of various substances, were clear and sharp in the darkness, and they were locked onto their idol.

"No," Enjolras murmured truthfully.

"Me neither. Too much going on." The drunkard shifted, lying on his back and faced the ceiling. "You know, 'jolras, we've come so far now. A part of me always knew you would." He paused, thoughtful. "That or die. I thought you'd died right there by me, with me doing nothing to stop it. I mean… what good am I, if I can't even keep the people I care about safe? I thought I'd lost you that day."

"I'm still here, Grantaire," Enjolras murmured, his voice more gentle than the other had ever heard. "I'm not dead."

"I know, but you could have been… and your old man wants you dead now. What if the next time you don't get so lucky?"

"Then I'll die for my beliefs."

"What good does that do?"

"What good is life if there's nothing worth dying for? Surely you've learned that in all of this."

"I have something worth dying for," Grantaire proclaimed proudly.

"What's that?" his leader asked tiredly, a small smile perking his lips.

"You," the larger man said in all seriousness.

There was a silence between them. The conversation had taken place before, more times than not in the form of angry shouts coming from the irritated blond that demanded why Grantaire bothered them. Why was he there if he served no purpose? The answer had always been to irritate before, and few times like this. If he had ever said it in seriousness then Enjolras had been too angry to believe him. Now he merely stared at him.

"Say something, Apollo."

"Stop calling me that."

"Why? You're a god."

"I'm not God."

"I didn't say you were. I said you were a god. Above your peers. That makes you a god in my eyes."

"Listen, Grantaire-" His statement was cut off as the sound of the front door being broken in reached the back room. He shot up out of bed, regretting the action within a moment as he tripped over himself. Grantaire was by his side, though he wasn't sure when he'd gotten up, but his hands were steadying the blond now and Enjolras saw his bedroom door open and a cocky looking soldier filled in.

"Alexis Enjolras."

Enjolras stood, shaking Grantaire's hands off and tried to regain as much of his dignity as possible. "Yes."

A horrible smile passed over the soldier lips as he aimed his rifle at the injured young man. "Alexis Enjolras, you are hereby arrested in the name of His Majesty King Louis-Philippe, the King of France on accusations of treason of the highest account and the murder of good men who served in the national guard. All men with you will also be taken into custody. You really should come quietly, Monsieur Enjolras, or others may be hurt."

"You bastard," Enjolras hissed. "You people raised a white flag at the barricade! You have no right!"

"We have every right," the soldier sneered. "And they certainly don't need to be explained to the likes of you, boy. Come now, or things may turn ugly."

At the sound of this another soldier dragged an exhausted looking Combeferre into the room by the collar of his shirt and tossed him to the ground. His eye was blackened and his cheek swollen as if he'd taken the butt of one of their rifles to his face. He most probably had.

Enjolras' eyes met his oldest friend's for a moment and Combeferre seemed to be pleading with Enjolras to flee. The blond shook his head and extended his wrists to be cuffed. "This is not over," he swore lowly.

"I'm sure it is. Move along there, Monsieur Revolutionary. You're taking up valuable time this evening."

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The prison system reminded Enjolras of a sewer system. It was disgustingly filthy and smelled of death and decay. He was sure that if left to themselves that every man brought to this place would die of infections of some sort within weeks if not days.

"I believe it was Robespierre who said that society owes protection only to innocent citizens, wasn't it?" a voice rang through the all but empty cell.

Enjolras scrunched hits nose. "Who are you to be quoting Robespierre, Father?"

"No one in particular. I thought you might appreciate it."

"He would have spoken against people like you."

"I know, but think of it this way," Nicolas Enjolras said with a wave of his hand and he leaned on the bars, "Robespierre set the foundation for your little revolution, and through your revolution I will sit upon the throne. Can you see that, Alexis? All of you Republicans' hard work has put those you hate most in power."

Anger boiled in the young revolutionary. "Shut up."

"I thought it ironic that you landed in this cell, don't you, Alexis?" Nicolas asked with a smile. "Do you know it? The one in which Saint Just waited for his impending death at the guillotine. Just as you are."

"You won't win this, Father."

"But I already have."

Enjolras threw himself at the bars, using every ounce of his power to shake them. "Father! You'll doom this nation!"

"No, Alexis! You and your people have doomed it! I am only taking what I can from it."

"It is what you're good at, is it not?" his wife's son spat. "Taking what does not belong to you and using it to your gain."

"You would have done well to learn from your father, Alexis, but alas, you did not. You followed your mother's footsteps. She so wanted to see what you would have become, boy. She had so much faith in you, but I knew you were nothing but a rebellious youth that would be put into your place." Nicolas watched his son fume for a moment before smiling. "You have an audience with the king, my boy. Will you come quietly?"

"The people will not stand for this."

"I'm not worried that they will. Come along now."

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The room was empty save for the man dressed up in all of his frill, sipping tea at a table, and looking over notes. He was accompanied only by the near non-existence presence of two guards whom Enjolras recognized as his father's men. The doors opened at the far side o reveal a young man whom the blond revolutionary had not seen in some years: his cousin by his father's sister Anton D'Aubigne.

"My how you've grown, Alexis," Louis-Philippe said as he looked up from his notes. "Though, I suppose I should not be so informal to the boy who is about to serve trial for treason against me and my crown."

"You have no right to try me," Enjolras growled out.

"And why is that?" the king asked the young man.

"Your men raised a white flag during battle."

"I've heard of no such thing, my boy," Louis-Philippe said sadly.

"Liar," Enjolras hissed. "Perhaps I was wrong when I assumed you to only be a naïve fool and not a horrible man like your predecessors."

"I fear you've given me little choice in my sentencing of all of this. If you wish no trial, I have no choice. Nicolas, I am sorry."

"I'm not," the villain said, though speaking of something entirely different, andhe pulled a pistol from his pocket. The shot rang out through the room and echoed off of the walls, making everyone's ears hurt. The king fell dead to the ground and Nicolas had tossed the gun at his son before the younger man knew what was happening. He stood with eyes wide at the dead king before him.

The doors were flung open and guards stood in horror.

"Arrest him. He'll be put to death tomorrow for the murder of the King of France," Nicolas spat.

Enjolras looked horrified. "I… I didn't. Wouldn't." He felt hands clasp around both of his arms and haul him off of his feet, gun that he didn't realize he was even holding pulled roughly from his hands. This wasn't how it was suppose to happen. No matter what he had just said, he never had seen Louis-Philippe as a bad man that needed to be taken out, merely to step down and allow the people to rule. He had felt that the king would have allowed it to happen if he'd been forced to see reason. Surely he'd have seen it…

"He had no heirs… No family to take his place," one of the soldiers sputtered.

"I do believe Uncle would be the logical replacement, if only temporarily," Anton said quietly from behind Nicolas.

"Please, Anton," Nicolas said with a horrible subdued smile. "Let what needs to be done be done. For now this… filth needs to be hauled away and our dear departed king's body tended to."

Enjolras felt himself being tugged towards the door and he snapped out of his shock and began struggling. "You're wrong! He shot him! He wants the throne. I swear, on my life, I'll see that you pay for this! Pay with your life, do you hear me? I will not see this used for your evil!"

"Take that traitor away," Nicolas said as he turned to hide his smile of triumph.

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A/N: Now then, I really know very little about Louis-Philippe other than Hugo, from what I remember, said that he was not a bad man, so I've tried to balance my portrayal of him. Yes, I've really screwed with history this time, haven't I? It's getting worse and worse, this AUness, but I'm enjoying it. The plot has picked back up and now I'm to write more! Thanks for all of your patience with me thus far. Hopefully it'll be flying from here on out.

Tsunami Wave: Well, you're the only one quick enough to get a review up as I'm on this mad-dash for this fanfic. Wuha! Go me. Anyway, yeah, poor Bouvet. How we love him, he's a dear, really he is. And don't worry, if Anna and I finish our fanfic, you'll see Enjolras tipsy. He's actually rather sweet tipsy….

TBC

TS