AN: Since I made the stupid mistake of updating with the same chapter I thought I'd treat u guys to another one.
The Les Amis defended their base furiously, knocking back any soldier that tried to climb the barricade as shots whizzed a hair length past their ears as they fought. Night had fallen and only the burning wooden torches to provided light to help distinguish friend from foe.
Shots kept ringing in Enjolras' ears as he could only hope they had missed their target as he punched a man in the gut with their own rifle before shoving them back down the barricade. His mind panicked as he watched more soldiers try and climb their way over the barricade.
"Fall back!"
Enjolras jerked his head up to the top of the mound of the barricade, his eyes landing on Marius with a barrel of oil and a flaming wooden torch in both hands.
"Fall back or I blow the barricade!"
Enjolras approached Marius carefully, if Marius blew the barricade he'd kill all of them, including the guards. Silence fell on both sides of the barricades as they realised the commotion, the only sound Enjolras could hear was the beating thrum of his heart in his chest as he watched Marius' interaction with the soldier with careful eyes.
"Blow it up and take yourself with it!" The soldier replied.
Everyone watched on in muted horror as Marius slowly lowered the flaming torch to the barrel.
"And myself with it."
Just as the licks of flame were about to contact the oil, the soldier realised how Marius would hold true to his word.
"BACK!" The soldier screamed.
The other guards hearing the order retreated with quick steps out of the of street, the rest of them climbing down from the barricade with haste.
Enjolras released his breath that he didn't even realise he was holding and climbed up to Marius, taking the flaming torch from the man's hand with haste before stumbling back down the barricade. His heart thundered in his chest loudly as he panted from holding his breathe for too long. In the moment where Marius had almost doomed them all to death he had realised something:
He was afraid to die.
Not once before the barricades had risen did he think he'd be afraid of death, because that death was given for the sake of his country; when he had dedicated his life to the improvement of France he had believed he had already accepted the possibility of death by the barrel of a gun, so why was it now that he suddenly cared whether he lived or died?
He could hear the muffled shouts of Combeferre and some other members as they made a point to Marius that their lives weren't his to throw away. He leaned heavily against the wall as his mind sought out the reason for his sudden fear of death's cold embrace. His eyes closed in thought, but he was only greeted with a pair of meadow green eyes staring back at him.
Was she the answer?
Was Esmeralda the reason he wanted to survive this war, survive this rebellion and not throw his life away for France? The image of her beautiful face was still fresh in his mind, as if he had only seen it hours ago. He could remember the exact rosiness of her cheeks and the shade of her favourite lipstick she only wore on special days; he recalled the way she'd bicker and constantly argue with him over the tiniest of things; he recalled the way her eyes would light up whenever she saw him- them, the Les Amis.
He missed the way Esmeralda would shamelessly wrap her arm around his waist when she had one too many drinks at a meeting.
He missed the way she laughed without restraint, as if she didn't have the heaviest burden resting on her shoulders.
He missed the way she would always calm them down after an argument erupted within the group, claiming for peace as she rested her hands on their rigid shoulders.
He missed her.
So perhaps she was the reason for his new desire to survive, what would he do with it? Because for all he knew she could've been on a boat halfway across the channel towards England now, miles away from them; away from him.
"Enjolras!"
His body jerked him out of the spell he was under, as he casted his eyes towards the doorway where Combeferre stood, an expression of panic masking his face.
"Come, it's Éponine." Enjolras' brows furrowed.
"Éponine? What on earth is she doing here?" He pushed himself off from his post on the wall and jogged back to the barricade where his eyes rested on Marius cradling an injured Éponine, dressed in men's clothes, holding onto her life by strands of a thread.
Enjolras lowered himself to the ground on one knee in front of the pair. He locked eyes with Éponine, who gave a sad smile before reaching into the inside of her jacket and pulled out a letter, holding it meekly in front of him. He took the damp letter hesitantly and noticed that his own name was scrawled messily on the front before looking back up at Éponine.
"I kept it… from all of you." Her breath was laboured as she rested peacefully in Marius' arms. "It's from Esmeralda."
Combeferre looked between Marius and Éponine, sensing the pair needed their time alone he tapped Enjolras on the shoulder and motioned him to come back into the café. He watched Enjolras settle on a wooden chair that looked as if it was about to give way any minute and simply stare at the letter he held in his hands.
"What are you doing? Open the bloody thing, Éponine said it was from Esmeralda." Combeferre strolled towards the doorway. "I'll leave you alone if it helps."
Enjolras watched Combeferre stroll back outside to help tend to their wounded from the latest battle. Enjolras' eyes casted downwards to the letter he held in front of him, he felt a smirk tug at the edge of his lips as he saw the scruffy scrawl of Esmeralda's handwriting. She was always a messy writer.
He opened the letter with shaky hands and began to read the messy ink.
Dear Monsieur Apollo,
I do not have much time, only a few minutes, so I shall make this quick and simple for you, Enjolras.
My father has a very dangerous and secretive past that has caused the both of us to run from it for the majority of my life and my dear Papa has only just told me it was time to move on again, immediately. However, this time I'm not ready to move on, I don't want to move on. No. 25 on Rue de l'Homme armé is the apartment my father is taking me to tonight, and then within the next week he wants to make passage to England, but I don't want to go to England - call me childish all you want, but I finally belong somewhere.
Knowing you my next words will only be making you gag, but I implore you to endure it.
Enjolras let out a small scoff as he read her words.
I always wanted to be a part of something. I wanted to be a part of anything, a group or maybe even an act. I never fitted in with the rest of the bourgeois girls, they fawned over men and talked about which parasol was in the latest fashion too much and it simply wasn't where I belonged. It must've been a sign from the bloody Gods that you and I fell over each other on that day, for I thank the Lord that I'm not sure I even believe in, that I met you. You gave me a place where I was welcomed, where I felt at home and even though that home was a room in the back of café with a group of dashing young rebel men, it was still home.
I idolized you. Yes, a bit over exaggerated but I did! You were the fire that managed to set my heart aflame, in more than one way. I'm not sure I will ever get the pleasure of arguing with you, or seeing you again, but I'm making a promise to myself that I shall fight tooth and nail back to you, back to Les Amis. Tell the boys I love them for me, Andre.
Also, was it too greedy of a thought to think that someday I'd be the moon to your sun? I do hope not.
I'm sorry my confession is through a letter, I would've loved to see your reaction.
Enjolras gulped nervously as his eyes trailed her next words.
I love you, most ardently.
Your dearest,
Esmeralda x
His fingers softly traced the lipstick kiss Esmeralda had planted next to her name.
She had loved him- no she loves him.
His head bowed as his mind swarmed with thoughts like bees around a honey hive of Esmeralda.
What was he to do with himself?
He read over the letter two times, 3 times more. What was he to do now with the information that she loved him? Just as he was about to throw the envelope away, the jingling of metal stopped him. How he had not noticed the first time? He had no clue. His fingers slowly pulled out a gold chained necklace with a diamond moon charm attached onto it.
Esmeralda's necklace.
Enjolras couldn't recall a time where Esmeralda had not been wearing this necklace. It was adorned on her neck always, glistening in the sunlight as she walked down the streets or glowing in the candlelight of their Les Amis meetings. Was he that important to her for her to give him one of her most prized possessions for his keeping? He didn't deserve her love at all. He was a man who had dragged his friends closer to their own demise. They were all so young, all in their twenties and they had promised to fight to the death with him. What kind man does that to his friends?
Combeferre's harsh, yet wise words from yesterday were suddenly brought to the forefront of his mind. Maybe for once he should do what his heart wants him to do, and ignore his nagging brain for once.
She had written down her address, he remembered.
An idea popped into his mind like a shot going off.
He rummaged through the draws to find their usual storage of papers, ink pots and pens. For the first time in Enjolras' life he wrote with his heart, and he poured his fears and his worries out onto the paper for Esmeralda. He finally decided to stop ignoring the obvious and chose to acknowledge his blatant feelings for Esmeralda, whether he decided if he was a man worth of loving a woman like her was to be done later, but for now at least he no longer ignored it. He seared his passion into the ink of his pen, for if he should die, she deserved to know how much she meant to him, to all of them.
Valjean paced back and forth in his apartment, anxiety and panic consuming his mind. Esmeralda had pulled another disappearance, only this time he couldn't find her. She had stolen his clothes, some of his money and had ran. He should've expected it from her, knowing how much of a flight risk she was. He had searched in all the places where he could find her today: their old cottage, the university and the different parks. The night had grown late, and he was forced to return to his apartment without any sign of where Esmeralda could be. He had been there when the uproar had started in Place de la Bastille during the funeral parade for General Lamarque. He could only pray that Esmeralda was not among the crowd.
A sudden knock on his door knocked him out of his reverie.
He rushed to the door, unlocking it as quick as possible in hope that it was Esmeralda, but he was only met with disappointment as his eyes only took upon the peculiar sight of a young boy, no older than 10, at his front door, with his arm outstretched in front of him, holding a letter.
"Letter from the barricade in Rue de Villette." The young boy said proudly.
Valjean's brows furrowed.
"The barricade?" He whispered to himself. "I'll take it."
Just as he reached for the letter though, the boy pulled it back and outstretched his other hand and nodded to it. Understanding the gesture, Valjean reached into his pockets and took out a few sous for the boy and then retrieved the letter.
"Something for me, something for you." With that said, the young boy treaded down the stairs.
"Boy." Called out Valjean. "You stay away from those barricades, you understand?"
The boy paused to look at Valjean, before giving a nod of acknowledgment and continued his way down the stairs.
With one last look at the boy, Valjean noticed the neat refined scrawl of ink that wrote the name Esmeralda on the front. A letter for his daughter? He promptly ripped the envelope open and unfolded the letter to read the contents.
"Dear Esmeralda, you've left your mark on my heart
And soon you will be gone
Can it be only two months since we met
And my world and mind has been changed?
If I should fall in the battle to come
Let this be my goodbye
Now that I know you loved-"
Valjean's breath hitched and his brows furrowed in an incredulous manner as he read the next words.
"-loved me like a fool
It is harder to die...
I now regret not telling you
I also loved you
Pray for your Enjolras, he prays for you…"
Valjean squeezed his eyes shut and raised his head towards the ceiling. He felt his heart constrict painfully as he let the words of the letter sink into the pit of his mind.
"Mon Dieu…" he whispered.
"This is the day I most feared
For a young man has appeared to change my life
This Enjolras would take the treasure of my autumn days
To be his wife
But he could die
Tonight…"
He shook his head and retreated back into his apartment, grabbing the nearest coat he could find before fleeing out of the doorway.
"I must find this boy."
Half an hour later Valjean was wrestling to get a guard's uniform off their unconscious body to wear as a disguise. He slipped the large tail coat and hat and walked through the streets till he reached a barricade situated in front of the Café Musain. As he neared the barricade he pulled the hat off his head and emerged from the alley, keeping close to the wall.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" He whispered urgently as a multiple number of guns pointed at him from the other side of the barricade. "I come here as a volunteer."
He watched one man dressed in a blood red coat with a head adorned with golden curls turn back to his comrades and give them a nod. Valjean sighed with relief as a wagon was pulled back from the barricade to make room for him to pass through.
"Merci."
But Valjean had spoken to soon, for as soon as he entered he was surrounded by a circle of pistols pointed at his head and the golden-haired boy had seized his rifle from his hands.
"You see that prisoner over there?" one man asked, his face long and his hair clipped shorter than the rest of the boys.
"A volunteer like you." Another man said sneeringly, his dark curls framing his pale face as he grabbed Valjean's arm.
Valjean casted his eyes to the direction they had nodded their heads in and the air rush out of his lungs in an instant. There was Javert, the man who he had been running all his life from with his hands bound by rope and his neck tied in a noose as he kneeled on the dusty floor.
"Spy who calls himself Javert."
"He's gonna get it too."
"Don't kill 'im! I know 'im!"
The small voice of a child exclaimed through all the other talk. Valjean looked down to see the sight of the child who had delivered the letter for Esmeralda to him. So, the boy who was named Enjolras was definitely among these men, he realized.
A blur of movement suddenly caught his eye, and he casted his squinted gaze to the roofs. Up there was a soldier, already taking aim with his rifle!
"Enemy marksman!" Valjean screamed, grabbing his rifle back at the same time and took the shot.
The rest of the young men had noticed more soldiers slinking around the roof tops like cats in the night and delivered their shots as loud bangs rang through the warm summer's night, all while screaming and shouting to alert anybody else.
When they had finally taken out the last of the ones they could see, the young men were still watching, their eyes alert for any kind of movement in case of a hiding enemy.
"Thank you, monsieur." The golden-haired leader of the group came forwards to thank Valjean personally, his voice deep with appreciation.
"Give me no thanks, monsieur." Valjean's eyes held a deadly serious gleam to them as he turned back to Javert. "There's something you can do."
"If it is within my power…" The leader replied.
"Give me the spy Javert." Valjean gestured to the pistol on the man's waist. "Let me take care of him."
"Do what you have to do, the man belongs to you." The leader handed him a thin ornate dagger along with his pistol, which Valjean took carefully in his hands.
Combeferre, who had been watching the exchange between the two men, widened his eyes in panic.
"No!" he whispered furiously, "Enjolras, this isn't right!"
Enjolras' only reply was his silence as he closed the door behind himself and left the man to do his deed.
After all, Enjolras was a brilliant man, capable of being terrible.