Chapter Sixteen: A Ghost Attends the Funerals

Enjolras came to very slowly, his blue eyes fluttering open slowly and his hands groping in the darkness to gain an idea of where he was. Had he dreamt that the people had risen up for him and now he was dead? He didn't expect heaven or hell to be so dark…. And it smelled strangely of his rooms that he kept. No candle burned nor a lamp lit and he struggled into a sitting position, allowing his eyes to become accustom. Now he could see more clearly. The curtains had been pulled tightly closed so no moonlight could enter and the room was empty for all other except Grantaire who was asleep in a chair by the door, head resting against the wall. He looked uncomfortable.

The blond pushed back the bed sheets and swung his legs over the side. He landed quietly on the wooden floor of his room and stepped over to where the drunkard slept. "Grantaire?" he whispered, touching his shoulder lightly.

Grantaire jerked awake, eyes wide, and finally came to rest on the younger man standing before him. A smile spread across his face and he reached up for his idol as if he were still sleeping. "You've been asleep a really long time," he said tiredly.

This did not set well with the blond. "How long?"

"A day," Grantaire answered, looking as if maybe he were waking up more. "You've been sleeping a day. Combeferre's come by to check on you several times. He kept telling me to get water down you and when you woke to get you to eat something. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," Enjolras responded, not realizing until that moment just how hungry he was.

"Good. Then I don't have to fight you on it," Grantaire said with a grin. He stood and they moved out of the room together. "We probably need to change the dressing on your wound. Your fever's down, but Combeferre said he'd rather keep you in bed for another couple of days while things settle out."

"That won't do. I've already lost time."

"There's nothing urgent yet."

"Nothing urgent?" Enjolras echoed in awe. "We set up the Republic yesterday, Grantaire. We have to try my father, do with him what the people see fit, weed out his men, set up a permanent leader through election, and… there's so much. I can't even say it all."

The drunkard saw little way to appease his leader except allow him the freedom to do what he could for his beloved people. "Marius was by earlier. He says that Cosette's father would like to fund a funeral for those who died on the barricade, if you'll have it."

"Of course," Enjolras answered quickly. "We'll arrange for it by tomorrow's end. It should happen now, and then the trial."

"You plan to sleep at all within the foreseeable future?" Grantaire asked with a smirk.

Enjolras stared at him a moment, as if he were going to give him a lecture, but then a small smile perked his lips. "Probably not."

-----

The next day and a half was filled with busying about. Things were difficult, at best, but with the proclamation that Nicolas Enjolras was to stand trial for his crimes and the fact that the entire country seemed to be behind Les Amis, things were getting done.

Enjolras, upon question, had refused to move into the palace, stating that his rooms were good enough for him and if he must do business in the monstrosity, it would only be business. He would not live apart from the people, for that would be his downfall.

The funeral arrangements for those that fell – and even a lesser ceremony for the National Guard who had died – was set to be held two days later and Nicolas' trial would be the day after that. Along with all of this being posted on the streets, in the papers, and spread by word of mouth for those that could not read, the announcement came that Enjolras meant to hold elections, not to simply fall into the leadership position. In fact, Enjolras did not even mean to put his name on the ballot.

A sharp rap came on the door and the revolutionary leader's sat up quickly from where he'd hoped to catch a five minute nap before he was needed. Joly, who had had the same idea, also jerked away, eyes wide as he fumbled his way off of the sofa he'd collapsed on in exhaustion a few minutes before. The door opened and Bouvet poked his head in. "Enjolras? Are you ready?"

The blond nodded, straightening his black suit that he'd managed to dig out of his flat. "Everything's prepared then?"

Bouvet nodded, watching Joly stretch and yawn, moving to join them at the door. "The funeral is to begin in half an hour and the people will expect-"

"A speech," Enjolras said, not really asking.

"They seem to like your speeches."

"It riles them, that's all," the younger man said with a knowing smile.

"They've wanted nothing but talks from you since they voted you their leader."

"That wasn't a vote, that was… It's not my place, Bouvet, surely you understand that."

"I'm afraid I don't," the National Guard said slowly. "And I don't believe the people of France will either. There're murmurs in the street about your name not being on the ballot."

Enjolras shook his head. "I am a soldier, at best. I'm the one who brings it about. I know violence and death, which is not what will lead our nation now. Someone along the lines of Combeferre – logical, practical, and not quite as calculating – should lead. Tell me he put his name on the paper."

"He did, but only because you didn't."

"He's more suited, we always knew that."

Bouvet didn't respond as they walked out and to the grounds where the funeral was to be held.

-------

The day was overcast, but not raining. A few rays of sunshine were poking through the clouds as if they had been pierced with a sword. Grantaire and Combeferre had met Enjolras, Joly, and Bouvet at the gravesites before everyone else was meant to show.

"There's already a crowd here," Grantaire noted, looking at the people all around.

"Do you know any of them?" Bouvet questioned.

"Some in passing. The café, school, the streets where they were so often… They were everywhere and now they've all come to bid our fallen friends farewell," Enjolras murmured. "Ah, look, Grantaire. Isn't that Rosy?"

The drunkard looked over to where his smaller friend was pointing, and there she stood. The bar maiden of the Café Musain, dressed all in black with her bright red hair pulled up on her head, curls tamed, and lips painted a pretty shade of pink instead of the bright red in which she usually wore. She spotted Grantaire staring and waved at him, approaching the small group.

"Grantaire, Enjolras, Combeferre! It's so good to see you all. I hadn't heard who all was alive and who wasn't. I thought for sure some of Les Amis must have been killed, but…" She pulled a handkerchief from the folds of her dress and dabbed at unusually dainty tears that fell from her dark green eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm such a pathetic little thing, ain't I?"

"It's alright," Grantaire assured, not sure quite how to console her.

"To see you three is a sight though," Rosy said with a smile. "Were any of you badly injured?"

"Both of them," Combeferre answered her tiredly. "And they're both horrible patients, I assure you."

This brought a laugh from the young woman. "Well, at least you're all alive. I've reopened a portion of the café. Obviously I haven't had all the damaged fixed… Her owner is still out of Paris, but left a note for me that if and when I came back I was to take the money out of the safe and do what I could to get her up and runnin' for business. If you'd like, after the funeral, I'd propose a celebration of these fine men's lives, what say you?"

"Well I say 'how much alcohol will there be?'" Grantaire responded with a huge grin.

Enjolras snorted irritably. "Always one thought. I could have sworn that you'd promised not to drink another drop."

"Oh, Enjolras," Rosy teased. "It's in celebration of your victory. Of the people's victory. How can you turn that down?"

The blond looked at her and noticed the strain, tired look that rested on her face. "I think that would be good. It will show people that life may continue on, though better. Much better."

"Good!" Rosy exclaimed, looking relieved. "Then it'll be an open bar tonight. For all."

"Enjolras," Courfeyrac's voice rang in their ears. "It's time to begin."

Grantaire watched the smaller man nod and walk to the front of the gathering crowd. He took his seat next to Rosy, feeling both uncomfortable and happy as she reached for his hand as the tears began to flow. Enjolras had the crowd's attention upon his entrance. He spoke of those who died. He spoke of their lives, their purpose, and that it was up to the living to show that their deaths were not in vain. He assured the people that he would, above all else, continue to fight for that until the day he too was laid in the ground. The speech began to phase out to Grantaire as he turned to the young woman next to him and gripped her hand, reaching the other around her shoulders and holding her closer in a moment of compassion, easing her tears if at all possible. Rosy cried into his broad shoulder and a part of history was laid to rest, the page being turned.

----

The word spread quickly that the 'celebration of life' was being held at the newly reopened Café Musain and everyone in the city of Paris seemed to be trying to find a place in the café. Rosy was busy, as were all the young barmaids that helped her. They scurried about in such a fashion that Grantaire turned up being left to his own devices, rather than in the company that he'd expected to be in.

"You don't have to look so distraught," a voice said from behind him.

He turned to see a slightly smirking Enjolras. He hadn't seen the younger man since the funerals and now he stood, dressed in all black except for the stark white shirt and a red vest. The drunkard had not seen that red vest since the day of the barricades and it seemed to bring Enjolras back several weeks to when he was only a student with large dreams, not the man that he'd become so very, very quickly. "I'm not distraught."

"You were just hoping for a dance with Rosy?"

Grantaire stared at the blond for a moment before the other moved to take a surprisingly empty seat next to him.

"She asked me if I might tell you to wait for her after everyone leaves."

"You never cease to amaze me," the drunkard mumbled.

"Mm?" Enjolras looked away, eyes watching the crowds. Even if he did look like the student he had been, there were very stark signs of all that had happened, if one looked. His face was still ashen coloured, even more so after the stress of the funeral speech, and he walked slower than he once had, arm protectively wrapped around his still wounded midsection when he wasn't thinking enough keep the sign away.

It was a moment before Grantaire realized that he seemed to be watching someone, instead of the crowd in general. Those blue orbs were locked onto one individual that the drunkard could not seem to find. "Looking for someone?" he questioned.

"I thought I saw someone."

"Who?"

"No one that you'd know." He stood and started towards where he'd been looking. "I'll be back in a bit. Tell Combeferre not to worry if he asks."

Grantaire watched the blond move towards the far door and couldn't help but follow.

-----

Enjolras moved through the crowd, towards the back door and finally locked eyes with the man he had spotted. Dark, deep eyes widened as he realized he'd been spotted and he hurried out the door, Enjolras hot on his heals. "Wait! Please!" the revolutionary called out, following as best as he could.

He stumbled out the door, into the summer night. The man was walking down the alleyway and appeared to have stopped at the far end of it. He waited until Enjolras reached him.

Enjolras stood, breath coming in almost gasps and pain rising through him. "Please… I saw you in there, and I'm sure I saw you at the funeral this afternoon."

"Perhaps," the stranger said as he leaned against the wall. "What of it?"

"You look like…" Enjolras stopped himself, watching the other blond man before him. "Are you a ghost, Monsieur?"

"A ghost?" the other laughed. "Maybe."

"Or perhaps a strong likeness to one that is dead?"

The young man grinned strangely. "No, I'm who you think I am. If you want to call me a ghost, go ahead. A figment of your imagination, if you wish. The job with drive you mad, you know. All that running about in battle and then it settles. What is a soldier to do but start after those who oppose him and his ideals? Do you know the answer, Alexis Enjolras?"

"Step down, allow the people to rule," Enjolras answered with conviction.

"Yes… perhaps that is where we went wrong, do you think?"

"I… don't know."

"Well you best get to finding that out, boy, lest you make the same mistakes. France has been given a second chance. Don't mess it up or you'll damn yourself and all those you love." He reached out a hand to the younger man and rested it against his cheek. All Enjolras could think was how cold it felt against his skin, as if it were ice against fire. Blue eyes fluttered closed against the feeling and when they opened again, the man was gone.

"Enjolras!"

The blond turned to see Grantaire running towards him and it was at that moment that his knees gave out on him. The drunkard caught him before he hit the ground, cradling the smaller man to him.

"Did you see him, Grantaire?" Enjolras asked frantically. "Did you see him?"

"Who, 'jolras?" the other man responded, stroking blond hair gently.

"Saint-Just."

This brought a startled chuckle from the dark haired man. "Enjolras, don't say crazy things like that. There was no one there. You walked out into the alley and collapsed. Look at you, you've got a fever again. What are we going to do with you, hmm? You never rest…"

"I saw him, Grantaire," Enjolras said stubbornly. "I know I did." He clung to the larger man's shirt, buring his face in it. Why wouldn't he believe him? He was so sure he'd felt that delicate, cold hand touch his cheek, heard those words in his ear. Was it possible the fever was playing with his mind that much? Combeferre would have a fit if he found out.

"There was no one there, Enjolras," Grantaire said gently.

"Don't tell 'Ferre, please?" the ill man murmured.

"I won't, if you'll come on now. We need to get you to bed."

"What about Rosy?"

"She'll understand," the taller man said as he scooped Enjolras into his arms and stood, holding the blond close to his body. Heat was radiating off of him. Apparently the day had taken more out of him than he'd let on to anyone. Grantaire sighed as he buried his face in the silky blond hair and placed a kiss on his friend's head. "She'll understand."

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TBC

TS

A/N: Rosy came about in a story Anna and I are working on and suddenly she had a face, a name, and a personality. I'm not entirely sure where they came from. It just happened. So she's not a major character, but just a bit for Grantaire. As Anna said, if you were to work in a café with hot rebels in there all the time, you'd have a crush on them too.

Tsunami Wave: I thought he might too. I've had moments where something in my mind whispers 'he's dead. End it here' but then I shove it further back. Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it and I hope you continue to.

Enjolras Freak: Well… there's more, at any rate… :)

Caligirl-HPLVR: Good to see you! I'm glad that you liked the chapters and I'm glad I've gotten everything across well!