Chapter Seventeen: The Trial

a/n: Contrary to what I would love to be able to do, I don't always do enough research for this particular fanfic… I already knew that King Louis-Philippe was, more or less, a decent king. Apparently, in his younger days, he was actually part of the Jacobin Club (the party which Robespierre and Saint-Just were a part of) and then ran from it later in life… wikipedia has a page on him, which would have been useful to read before hand. But this is an AU, and since I've twisted history enough as it is, for this purpose he was a good man, though easily manipulated and with no heirs, even though in reality he had ten children. So there… I think that covers everything to let you know that he wasn't a particularly bad man, from what I've read, and I'm sure that I've completely botched his whole personality in this, but so be it. The wonders of AU's. Oh, and on a happy, happy note: I got my laptop back :)

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Enjolras moaned as the sunlight washed over his face. "Too early," he mumbled, curling up around his pillow and turning his back to the window. "Close the curtains."

"You'd kill me if I let you sleep any longer, Enjolras," Grantaire answered.

"What's so important?" the blond grumbled, not fully awake.

This made the taller man smile as he sat on the edge of his friend's bed. He placed a large hand on Enjolras' pale face, checking for the fever that had been so persistent. It was there, like it had been for several days, but it was lower again. They really couldn't have him seeing ghosts in the middle of the trial…

Enjolras moaned lowly at the cool hand against his warm skin. "Grantaire, just let me sleep."

"The trial, Enjolras," the cynic reminded him quietly.

The younger man bolted upright, blue eyes wide. "The trial! How could I forget?"

"Being asleep will do that to you."

Enjolras flung himself out of bed and to his small wardrobe that stood in the corner. "What time is it?"

"You're not late, don't worry," Grantaire responded easily. "It's only nine. We're not due at the courthouse until ten."

"And it'll take a good half an hour to walk there!"

"We'll take a cab if we need to. Don't worry. You'll have enough on your mind by the day's end. You are trying your father after all."

Enjolras stopped what he was doing and looked over to his friend. He'd not stopped to really think about that the man he would be trying to condemn today was the very man that raised him, put a roof over his head, and educated him all of his life long. It was today that he would give a speech, as the people so enjoyed, that would possibly damn the man he had called 'father' all his life to death, and he was certain to the fiery pit of hell soon after.

"Are you alright with that?" Grantaire asked softly, as if reading his thoughts.

Enjolras yanked his shirt over his head. "I have little choice in the matter. I will state the facts before us and let the people decide."

"And you will do their bidding."

"And I will do their bidding, yes."

"Until they damn your soul."

Enjolras watched him for a long moment before smiling. "I have faith in the people that they will do what is right."

"I asked you once – do you remember? – who would lead the people if you died. Enjolras, you lived. Don't forget to lead the people."

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The courthouse was stuffed to the walls with people. Few had seats and many stood outside of the windows, hoping for a glimpse of what might happen and a chance to hear Enjolras. Their night of drinking and merriment had not subdued their lust for justice. A path was cleared without a word as Enjolras and Grantaire walked up the steps to the main room and to the front.

Nicolas Enjolras was sitting in a chair at the front of the room, hands cuffed in his lap and eyes scowling as his son walked in. His clothes, once the best that money could buy, were tattered after only four short days in the prisons and his hair was ratted and seemed to have greyed more in the past few days than the many years before. His eyes locked on his son and the citizen at his side placed a firm hand on his shoulder, ensuring that he would stay down.

"Enjolras!" Combeferre called as he crossed the crowded courtroom. "You disappeared last night without a word."

"I'm sorry," the taller man said quietly. "I was tired. I went home to sleep."

"At least you did that," his old friend responded with a huff. Combeferre looked perfectly exhausted, his lids threatening to droop over hazel eyes hidden behind chipped spectacles. "Are you up to this today?"

The blond nodded, his eyes scanning the restless crowd. "They're out for blood today."

"I'd say so," Combeferre responded. "We can't let it get out of hand, Enjolras. We promised ourselves and everyone else that this would not be a bloodbath. We can't let it get that far."

"I know," the other responded. "But you want him dead as much as they do."

Enjolras didn't give his friend the time to reply as he stepped away from them and up to a part of the room that was elevated. The people hushed gradually, their eyes fixed on the thin blond man that stood before them. This man, barely more than a boy, had become their savior. This child would raise them up, they knew, and they expected the words of God Himself to come from his perfect lips and not one lie did they expect. This man, this Alexis Enjolras, was the one that they'd been waiting for, praying for, and he would be their liberation, they knew. The one that would give them the opportunity to feed their children, to create a life instead of merely an existence. Such high expectations for one so young.

"My fellow citizens of France!" Enjolras called out to them and a cheer erupted immediately. He waited for them to quiet before he continued. "Any normal trial would not require such a turnout here, but this is a special time at the beginning of a new era in which the people will choose their own fate and destiny. I asked you here today, my friends, to call out your judgment on this man-" he pointed to his father – "Nicolas Enjolras."

The captive man's eyes widened a bit at the sound of angry shouts coming from all around. Those outside the courthouse who surely could not hear what was happening were feeding off of the emotions of those inside. Nicolas turned wide eyes on his son. The younger Enjolras refused to meet his gaze as he kept his sharp blue eyes locked on the people.

"His crimes are known by many," the blond youth continued loudly, his voice carrying even further than before. He wanted each man to choose for himself what happened today, not simply take what his neighbor said, "but I would have them known by all! This man-" he pointed again, still not looking at him – "was willing to use the barricades built for you, the citizens and hard working people of France, for his own gain. He used our victory, my friends, to murder the king who was never meant to die, only to step down. He murdered him in cold blood." He paused to let the murmurs die down before continuing. "He has long been holding the people of France captive from the shadows, using Louis-Philippe as a puppet to do his bidding and the people as personal slaves to do his work! Citizens, I ask you today, will you stand for it?"

Cries of rage broke forth as if from behind a dam. It took all of the men that Bouvet had gathered to hold the crowd back and only when Enjolras spoke up again did they quiet down. "My friends! Peace! You will not deliver justice today by killing him here. Perhaps not by killing him at all. It is your decision, my friends!"

"You forgot an accusation, Enjolras!" Courfeyrac called from where he stood inthe front of the crowd, next to the rest of Les Amis, Marius, and Cosette. He turned so his voice might be heard. "Nicolas Enjolras was the one that tried to have Alexis Enjolras guillotined!"

"That didn't need to be mentioned," Enjolras murmured to his friend who only grinned. The womanizer had known that the blond would have said nothing on his own of the matter, but it was out in the open now.

"We do not judge him today on what he has done to me, friends, but what he has done to you, the people! It is the people who rule France, not one man. It has been said before that it is a crime for one man to rule, and I stand by that, Citizens!"

Combeferre watched his friend through the whole speech, wondering how long it would be before his strength would fully give out beneath him, sending him tumbling forward. He was struggling, the medical student could tell, and his breath was labored as he projected his powerful voice.

"He's very ill, isn't he?" Cosette's soft voice somehow made it above the cries amongst the crowd.

Combeferre looked started by it. "Yes."

"He'll be alright though. He's strong," Marius assured her, wrapping his uninjured arm tightly around her shoulders. She clung to him, watching Enjolras carefully.

"I end my accusations against him and call for anyone that will stand for him, so that no one may say we were unjust today." Enjolras waited, breaths coming in gulps and not a soul moved. "You do not need to fear for yourselves if you wish to stand for him, or has he made that few friends over the years? Surely one good thing might be said." There was a slight sound of amusement in the blond's voice and a small smile perking his lips.

"I'll say somethin' for 'im!" one man yelled. "I'll say that he's an arrogant bastard that would have killed us all to get what he wanted!" The crowd cheered in accord.

"Then this is finished," Enjolras answered them. "All I ask of you now is that you do not pass judgment now. Nothing should be done in the heat of the moment."

"Except a revolution," Grantaire murmured with a grin.

Enjolras struggled not to roll his eyes. "My friends, return home. Think on it. I will ask for your answer along with your votes in three days' time." With that said, the people took themselves to be dismissed and slowly moved out of the courthouse, leaving Les Amis, a few of the guards that Bouvet had gathered, and Nicolas there.

"You've killed your own father, boy," Nicolas spat.

"And you would have killed your own son. Take him away."

"You have a very powerful way of speaking M. Enjolras," Cosette said from the side.

Enjolras turned toward her, eyes questioning for a moment before he recognized her and then Valjean who approached from behind. "Ah. Madmoiselle Cosette. A pleasure. If you'll excuse me, though, I should be leaving."

Grantaire watched Enjolras leave the courthouse, the signal clear that he wanted to be left alone for a bit. It had taken everything out of him and he seemed to want nothing more than a little solitude.

"I don't like leaving him alone," Combeferre fretted.

"I'll go," Grantaire offered. "Just in case."

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"Passionate, Alexis," a voice drifted into his ears.

Enjolras turned to see Anton standing at the end of the long alleyway he'd been walking down and his shoulders slumped. His cousin was, truth be told, the last person he wanted to see. They'd never gotten along well in their youth and had avoided each other at all costs once they'd set out for university. Why, oh why, had he chosen now to surface from the depths of apathy? All the elder cousin wanted was to make it back to his flat and collapse there.

"You're not speaking to me?" Anton asked as his cousin turned away. "How rude, truly, Alexis. I'm sure you of all people know that you must make the right friends at such a critical time as this."

"Anton," the blond said slowly, choosing his words carefully before he spoke, "the critical time you speak of is that for the people, not myself."

"You mean to tell me that you truly do not plan to better yourself out of this whole escapade? That you gain nothing of it? Not even the death of your father that you hate so much?"

By the time that Enjolras looked back, Anton was in his face, dark eyes looking up menacingly and a frightening grin of one that thought he knew, was sure that he knew, the inner workings of the other man's soul. "I don't want him to die," Enjolras said slowly.

"That's a lie and we both know it," the shorter man answered.

Two blue eyes locked with charcoal black ones. "What makes you think I want him to die?"

"Oh… Anyone would in your possition, Alexis. No one would blame you for hating the man. He always let you know that he hated you, in his ways. The lashes didn't help, did they? I remember a very young Alexis crying to his mother over a bloody back."

"Stop. You've said enough."

"Oh, but I don't think I have. Etienne remembers, I'm sure. Has he told a soul? Even that drunkard you keep as Robespierre kept Saint-Just?"

Enjolras stared at the other man. Truth be told, Combeferre had never known for sure about his father's so called punishments when they were children, but he was sure the young med student had suspected. He'd always been bright, even if Enjolras had always been one step ahead. "Grantaire is nothing like Saint-Just," was all the blond said.

"No, that's your position. You always strove to outdo everyone, didn't you Alexis? You must be the high combination of Robespierre and Saint-Just, mustn't you? So, will you take Uncle's head off before or after the people ask you to? Or does it matter?"

"Quit your mind games."

"Answer the question, Alexis."

"The guillotine is a horrific instrument."

"But you'd do it if the people asked?"

Enjolras stared at this cousin for a moment. "The people will do what is right."

"And yet you don't think the guillotine is right?"

"No, I don't. Why are you so convinced that they'll call for his head?"

"Because, my dear, naïve cousin, it is what the angry mob does best." That said, Anton turned and strode down the corridor, leaving Enjolras alone in the darkening alleyway and his own thoughts. He didn't notice Grantaire following him as he struggled home and collapsed in his own bed. He didn't notice that the drunkard let himself in, quiet as a mouse, and settled himself in a chair to watch the already sleeping revolutionary. He didn't notice any of it, just the way Grantaire had always liked it.

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TBC

TS

A/N: AUGH! Alright, being the anal geek that I am, I have a timeline going so that I won't get the days mixed up on this fanfic. It's a long fic, so it makes sense, right? Anyway, somehow, stupid me, after going online back in the beginning and looking up a calendar for 1832 so that I'd have the right days put in, I put in JULY! Augh…. No, this is not 18th century French Revolution fanfiction… No, Saint-Just died in July, not Enjolras…. Augh. Anyway, frustrated much, yes? So I had my days all off. Lame. But it's fixed now and my timeline is updated. Go me.

Tsunami Wave: Rosy popped up in another fic Anna and I are working on and I just felt like she needed a short snippet in this. This isn't a romance, therefore she won't have a big part. You really can ignore her for the most part. And yay! Another Saint-Just fan! Okay, so he was a nutter… Not our fault, right? He was a very cool nutter. Yeah, poor Enjy. Being an idealist myself (with rather radical ideas for my own time… bah.) I can understand how it might go. The idea is 'this happens, then this, then this, then it smoothes out, things all fall into place and all goes to where it should.' But everything works out in the end, sometimes things just take a roundabout way, right:)

Precious Angel: Good! I'm glad the notes worked! I started thinking that since I'd been so quiet on this one that people probably had stopped looking for it, so I thought I might drop a few notes here and there. :) And yeah, I had me worried about the whole king thing too… I tell tons of people, I'm not responsible for my chapters nor my stories, it's all the muses that I have writing these chapters. I claim no responsibility

Melissa Brandybuck: Yupyup. I'm glad to see you back! It's good to see all the names that have been following this :)

A/N2: BTW, I forgot to mention that after this story is finished, I have an idea for a story that actually happens within this one, but I can't post it until I finish this one, on account of it will have spoilers for things that won't happen until the tale end. So, just to let you know.