Yup, this is the last chapter! Already I'm starting to wonder if I should make a sequel, but that would be completely impossible since… Well, I might just write another story with a 'happier' ending. I love Eponine and Enjolras! I just had to say that. Ok, on with the story. :D
In Which the Author Attempts to Draw the Curtains While Leaving the Reader Satisfied
"What will you do now, monsieur?"
"I don't know."
"Will you fight?"
"Yes."
There was silence. And then Enjolras spoke:
"Are you disappointed?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I know what you are doing is a valiant thing. Eponine is sure of it too. As far as I know, noble men only fight for noble causes. But be careful, Enjolras. She asked you to, remember?"
"How can I forget?" There was despair in his voice. "What will you do?"
Henri shrugged, smiling. "Eponine might have wanted you to fight, but she wouldn't have wanted me to. I will probably be watching you and making sure you are taking care of yourself."
"How can you look so happy, after what just happened?"
The smile disappeared and a grave look replaced the mischievous twinkle in the child's eyes as he answered quietly, "She is in a happier place, monsieur. And hopefully we will see her again. But not yet." Henri turned to go.
"Wait—" Enjolras looked at him steadily. "We both wouldn't want something bad to happen to you. Be careful."
Henri grinned. "Always am."
"And Henri? You're a good boy, Henri, and she—Eponine loved you. Don't you forget it."
…..
"Monsieur Marius."
The whisper came from behind him. The young man turned swiftly around and saw a little boy looking up at him with a concerned face. The child's magnificent eyes seemed to be staring straight into his soul.
"Who are you?" Marius asked, feeling his arm relax its tense grip on his rifle.
"Why are you fighting, monsieur? Your mademoiselle would not be pleased."
"What makes you say that? Who are you?"
"She would have wanted you to be careful. Remember that." Then the child disappeared.
…
The fight was fierce. Around him, men were falling.
"Get out of here, Joly!" cried Enjolras. "Get out! Grantaire! Combeffere!"
Still, everywhere men were falling. They would not yield.
I am so sorry, my friends,thought he. Then he took his weapon with new strength, new passion and stood tall and proud, his eyes burning at the soldiers in front of him. For my Patria, for my friends, for Henri! Eponine! And with that, he ran towards them, crying, "Vive la Revolution!"
…
Revolution!
It boomed with each thundering crash of the cannon; it roared with each blasting fire of the guns; it rung with each clang of steel against steel. The bold young man stands with jaw clenched and eyes flashing, mere symbols of the mighty passion that beat within his breast—singing of revolution!
And yet I cannot hear that glorious sound! All I hear is the shouting of men, the booming of the intruding cannon, the blast of the infinite gunfire. Where is the shining light of hope and liberty? All I see are men falling, falling upon their knees, falling on their backs, falling with their faces upon the ground. I search for the fragrance of freedom, the wonderful smell of springtime come after the dreary darkness of winter. I find only the reek of death.
But look! There is some hope! Yonder stands a man, feet firm upon the ground, head held as high as the weapon of victory in his hands, eyes gleaming with fierce pride! No general, no king can ever shut out that light! And I can almost see it!
Hark! Do you hear that bold refusal of death? The man's cry will echo forever more. "Liberty, equality, fraternity!" No passing of the years can conceal that cry.
And yet where is the man now? The gun is fired; the man is fallen. He lies concealed with his young comrades. They all had their differences but were united by a common cause: revolution! Now where are they? They lie with their eyes open, but now the flame inside those eyes has died and there remains an endless sorrow. Who will remember them? Will someone remember them as they had been, triumphant and glorious in battle, until death finally overcame them?
The rumbling of the thunder has ceased. The gunfire has stopped at last. All is quiet and serene. I stumble from my hiding place, and all around me, there is nothing but endless darkness. Where has hope gone, now that the men in whose hearts it lived no longer live themselves?
Oh, wicked revolution! You stir up hope in the hearts of men till they are bursting with it and you will not stop till it has overflown at last! You have abandoned us, fleeing from us with laughter, leaving us in darkness!
But wait! I see another glimmer of hope! Another faint light glows softly amidst the blackness of my despair. Can it be that something better awaits us? Hush! The light draws near.
Where is hope? It has fled the terrors of war. There it lies, hovering over quiet fields and under solitary trees. Why does no one venture there, when hope is waiting, patient and quiet? There it is! Look to the creeping, rosy light of dawn and see hope arriving when tommorow comes!
"Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise!"
A/N: Wail! Now what do I write?