Chapter Nineteen: The Council and the Execution

A/N: There are several things I'd like to note before I begin. One is a flaw in the writing: I said that the day that it currently is is Friday, 21, 1832, which would be wrong by my timeline I've been keeping up with. It would be Friday, 22, 1832. Sorry 

The second is this: I've been writing on this story for an eternity. I looked back and I began it in July of 2005. So much has happened since then it amazes me and to think that I have loyal readers that are still with me. This is a moment to sit back and thank all of you. You're amazing and you are the reason that I have not ever entirely stopped on this story. Most stories that have a year pause in them are going to end up dead. I forget far too much with where I was going with it, but it's your encouragement that has kept this going. So thank you. : big cheesy grin :

--

The chimes marked noon and Enjolras released a breath he did not realize he was holding. As if on cue there were two knocks and the doors were pushed open. Combeferre entered, followed closely by several familiar faces and several unfamiliar. Though as Enjolras looked closer, he saw the more mature faces of the boys he knew growing up in his father's home.

"What is this nonsense of Nicolas Enjolras' death?" demanded a tall, handsome man that Enjolras was sure was Thomas DuMont.

"There is no nonsense about it," the blond revolutionary stated as he stood from behind the desk. His blue eyes scanned the room, making contact with each individual there. "You've been told the truth: Nicolas Enjolras murdered the king with his own hands."



"Anton was close to both your father and the king, surely he knows the truth," Lucas Chevalier growled out irritably.

"Are you calling Enjolras a liar?" Grantaire demanded.

"Perhaps," Lucas responded, eyes sparking with building anger. "Let us sit back and look at this. Your dear friend brings forth a revolution on our peaceful country-"

"Peaceful?" Marius piped in. "As you sat up in your homes with never a worry about food nor clothing! You call France a peaceful country, but only for those with the power to keep others poor and starving!"

"As I was saying, before rudely interrupted by this student-"

"That's enough," Enjolras interjected. "We are all council members, brought here for one reason, and that is to guide France. Have a seat, all of you, so that I may have my words. Bouvet and Courfreyac should be returning shortly, but they've already been spoken to."

Everyone moved to the overstuffed chairs that Enjolras had frowned at upon entering that room. The luxury disgusted him, but he had little time to do with it what needed to be done. When everyone had been seated, he took a look at their faces. Grantaire sat next to him, of course, and Combeferre to his other side. They were, rather on paperwork or simply in his own mind, his right and left hands: the ones that would keep him in check. Next to either of them sat Marius and an open seat left for Courfreyac, two that had fought bravely and proven to the country that they were worthy of their positions amongst the Council. Next to Marius sat another open seat left for Bouvet and Joly had seated himself on the other side of Courfreyac's open seat. Anton, Lucas, Thomas, and Isaac – those that were meant to balance the council – filled in the rest of the seats. Enjolras cleared his throat.



"Each of us has been put in the position that we are in because of the people. They chose us, and I would like to make that clear. No one here, myself included, shall ever have the capability of gaining a 'big head,' as it were, because it is each of our responsibility to keep our brothers in check. I will not allow another bloodbath to flow through France." The speech was interrupted as the door opened and Bouvet and Courfreyac silently walked in. They took their seats and Enjolras continued. "Each of us are responsible for one another and if anyone has an issue, take it to that person. I will not see any needless bickering amongst this group, is that understood?" He took a deep breath. "I'm sure each of you understands that Nico… that my father is to be guillotined today by the eve. I do not agree with this. The guillotine is an instrument that should never again be used in France, but the people have spoken and I am their servant. After the execution, the first movement I shall make, and I wish to vote on it now, is that we do away with the horrid device."

There were whispers all through the room. They glanced back and forth, each to their own familiars. Glares were shot, accusations were murmured, and Enjolras could barely stand it. He knew what was coming and he felt as if he were almost catching a glimpse of the future with the statement that followed.

"If you wish it done away with, why wait until after Nicolas' death?" It was Anton, of course. Anton would always have words to swap, a verbal knife to add to the physical wounds that were already so plentiful among the young men of Les Amis. He would be the one to watch in case of a new rebellion.

"Because the people have spoken and he has no choice," Courfreyac growled out. "Enjolras dislikes his father, it's true, but for heaven's sake, man, do you think that if he were willing to try and save – taking his place! - the boy that attempted to kill him, that he'd want to see any other man's head roll either. Use your brain."

"You call us inexperienced," Joly said quietly, adjusting his spectacles, "and say that we're only students." He paused, allowing the realization on how quickly it had spread in just a couple of hours sink into 

the four outsider's heads. "Yet you refuse to think of anything besides the power that has been put in front of you your entire lives. True, we have spent our lives in books, but we have also seen the troubles of the world. It will be the students that turn this world for the better. We are those that use their minds and hearts combined - not the wish for power – to better humanity."

"We will not survive this if we do not all learn to work with each other for the betterment of France," Marius spoke strongly as he stood. "Don't you understand the importance of it all?"

Anton sneered. "What youthful foolishness you hold," he grumbled. "But on with it."

"Wouldn't it be better, since we're all together, to go ahead and vote on Nicolas' execution?" Isaac Richards said in a quiet voice. He seemed as if he wished not to be sitting there. He had been a student, as well, in the same classes with the opinionated men of Les Amis, and had listened intently as Enjolras had used the classroom as his first platform before moving to the streets.

"All opposed to the sorry bastard dying by beheading raise your hand," Courfreyac said sarcastically.

Four hands that were expected went up and one that was not as expected joined them. All eyes turned to Combeferre. He stood, clearing his throat. "I believe, as a physician, that this form of death is cruel and unjust in a civilized society," he said with conviction. "And because of that, I cannot vote for it. It is not that I wish Nicolas Enjolras to live. He has caused more chaos and disruption in the last bit than the Reign of Terror caused, but not even a demon should be killed in such a way unless it is the only way."

"And is it?" Grantaire asked lowly. "It seems it is up to Enjolras what the choice is."



The blond shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable, rather it be from the chair he sat in or the situation he found himself in. "The people have spoken," he said at last. "We must bow to their wishes."

--

As the sun sank low in the sky the murmurs from those that had been gather since early in the afternoon filled the air. Men, woman, and children had come to see this event. Few looked disgusted, but most looked relieved. Enjolras stood with the rest of Les Amis, only slightly apart from the other four council members who had refused to come any closer. This was not the way to start out.

"You're not planning to speak, are you?" Combeferre asked, knowing the answer.

"I don't know," Enjolras answered, his voice barely audible.

The med student sighed and said no more. There was no reason to waist his breath on words that would only reach a brick wall and be lost to all understanding.

Enjolras' blue eyes were trained on a pair that looked only as if they were an older version of his own. Nicolas stood tall and proud on the scaffolding. He never lowered his head and his shoulders never slumped, but instead he stood as the tall, proud. He was a perfect statue for those that had followed him to see. His expression was unreadable and his eyes cold. A breeze picked up and tangled his greying hair just a little more. The tattered ribbon that he had somehow kept tied in his hair unknotted itself and blew into the crowd, being snatched up in an instant.



"Death to the murderer!" the people cried. "Long live the Republic!"

"The people are getting riled," Bouvet murmured to Enjolras, eyes carefully watching everything that was happening.

"Are your men in place?"

"Yes."

"Good, then that is all we can do."

Time seemed to stop as the executioner stepped to scaffolding. His black mask was pulled down around his face, eyes gleaming beneath. He glanced at his prisoner and smirked. He muttered something that sounded like "Vive la revolution," under his breath and moved to the guillotine.

"The crimes charged to one Nicolas Enjolras read as…"

Les Amis stood in silence as the sentence was read and the executioner moved with aching slowness to the lever, putting one massive, gloved hand over it. Father's eyes met son's one last time before they closed forever. Blood poured down like rain and all of Paris was rocked with cries of rejoice.

If anyone were paying attention, they might have seen one blond man moving through the crowd, shadowed by a ghost like figure. Through the masses they walked, squeezing through the throngs of people and towards an escape.

Vive la revolution, a voice echoed in Enjolras' head and he turned to catch the deep, dark eyes of the ghost that had been lurking in the back of his mind. And Paris shall sleep in peace for the first time in many years. Thank you.

"Ah!"

"Enjolras!"

The spirit seemed to dissolve away as Combeferre ran straight through it, stopping only inches from his friend. He watched as Enjolras stared blankly ahead of him, and then suddenly focused. "Yes?"

"Are you going home?" Combeferre asked, as if not wanting to hold out any hope for it.

"What more is to be done today?"



The young med student watched his blond friend move away, his stride odd and ghostlike. He worried, but that was not abnormal.

--

Enjolras sat alone in his flat, holding a small package in his hands. He turned it over again and again, wanted to open it, yet wishing it would forever stay closed. His eyes closed, but quickly reopened as images of his father's head rolling entered his mind.

Long, agile fingers gently pulled at the tie that bound the package together. Their owner had not given them the command to do so, so they acted on their own. Slowly, the paper fell away, revealing a letter and many folded documents. Those uncooperative hands pulled the letter up to equally rebellious eyes. Then they began to read.

Alexis,

There are many things that I never told you in your life, and may have told you before my death. One is that you are not my true son. No, continue reading. I know that this may cause you to stop. Your mother was not always true to me, and who can blame her? In my way, I loved her, but in the end it was not enough. You are my brother's son, if you wonder why we look so alike. She found in him the love she could not find with me.

I should be asking your forgiveness in my final letter to you, but my pride will never allow it. I fear it will be my undoing, but there is one last thing I can do. I have no choice but to do so: Our wealth that we possessed when you were young was not my own, but your mother's dowry. She begged me upon her deathbed to not keep it from you, not matter how distant we became.



In this packet I have enclosed all documents that will entitle you to the Enjolras fortune, including my late elder brother's. He is your father, and has he has no heirs that he knew of, it was entrusted to me. Give it to your little republic, if that is your desire. Surely your mother understood you better than I.

Be well, my son. In a way, I have always loved you.

Your father,

Nicolas Enjolras

Alexis Enjolras sat in awe as he undid the wrappings that clung to the documents. Everything that his father had said was there was. He shuddered for a moment, unable to comprehend. Everything seemed to swirl into one and a tear slipped down his marble cheek as he clung to the last letter his father would ever write him.

After several moments of allowing himself weakness, he stood. These documents needed to be filed and all money transferred to places in which it could help the people. He would not keep any of his mother's money. Perhaps, someday, he would find enough strength to read the letter again, or speak its words to his dearest friends, but for now he knew that it had to be filed away in a much safer place. A place that he would not see it and lose his carefully crafted mask of strength.

The letter was put away in a velvet lined box along with a few things of his mother's that he still kept. He closed it gingerly, so not to rumple the paper. As his fingers slipped from the box and the key twisted in it, he felt as if it signified something. A new start. Everything was going to be different, but if even his father could set aside his hatred for all those that he despised, then he could surely do what he set out to do. It was decided, and France would have everything she deserved.

Le Fin.

A/N: After 3 years of work, this piece is finally finished! Yay! It took me long enough. I really enjoyed this, honestly. I've put off the ending for so long, but as I was writing this chapter, I knew it would end here. Perhaps someday I'll write a second part to it…. If I can ever find the time. Oh, something really cool, my pastor used snippits of the Les Mis movie to illustrate his point today for the sermon.

Jenn Hoffman: I'm sorry it took so long to update this. Such a long time between chapters is difficult, but apparently I was able to pull it off to an extent at least.

Melissa Brandybuck: I'm glad you liked it. Enjolras was doing the best he could. Thank you so much for being such a loyal reader. : big hug :

Aurelia: Thanks so much!!

Freedom Tide: and the suspense is answered! And no, Nicolas did not get out of his head rolling. I never intended on him to. There is no way a villain like him could get away from me. : insert evil laughter : Anyway…. Hope you liked it

Pontmercy for President: Yeah, gotta love trying to read these long ones with school involved… I've done that before. Try writing them with that. That's when you get a three year long story lol. Ah well, at least it was wrapped up and not forgotten.

Feather Qwill: And there was! Thanks for reading!

Carolyn: It's been updated! Yay! Thank you much!!

Angel718: Thanks very much. Three days seems to be the magic number for people to read this story. That makes me feel really good on some level. I'm a huge Grantaire Enjolras friend paring fan. Though, my best friend and I went to go see the production in Dallas a few years ago and Grantaire was feeling up on Enjolras' leg and we got pretty giggly. Ah well, fangirls will be fangirls. Glad you like it!

Enjy-Glomper: Updated! Yay! Thank you so much!

Ignored Genius: Thanks very much!!

A/n 2: To anyone who cares, keep your eyes open in a few years because I have a couple of novels I'm working on that I hope to get published. I may put a chapter on fictionpress under the name JERussell. Maybe, someday. I don't know. I may do it tonight, so keep your eyes on it. I think I will.

Thank you for being such lovely wonderful readers! You are all amazing!! Love you much!