TheIbis- Sommmehoowww I think this chapter is sadder... Maybe that's just because... Well, no spoilers. So.. read now. And don't kill me like I killed everyone!
SPAS- I'm sorry :( I hope this chapter stabs you less, but maybe it will actually be worse *evil laughter*
Bowties- Yes, Gav went to the barricade, but he was sent to be a delivery boy for Joly and Grantaire to Musichetta and Eponine. And here's that Enjolras/Ceara for you!
Somebody- Yep, there's battle stuff in here. It focuses a lot on Joly's report of the barricade, though, so maybe it's less violent than other barricade stories!
Punchy- Sorry! :( But i felt it was necessary for Eponine's reaction. Much kisses right back!
Pica- Aw thank you so much! I've never thought anyone would be able to tolerate my writing in one go :) I personally find my own writing tiresome, so it's a good thing when someone else thinks differently!
Green- Thank you! And I dunno, there's a lot of strangeness about Grantaire. He's a peculiar character, if I was less lazy I'd do a character study on him.
Thank you lovelies so much! That may have been the most reviewed chapter yet! Please don't kill me after this chapter, because Grantaire gets his moment and I just...
Confession time: Grantaire is my favorite Ami. Even more than Enjolras and Courfy. Why am I making him sad, you ask? Because this story was inspired by ConcreteAngel's sugar-high when she said (and I quote) "If i lived in 1832 i'd jump Enjolras before he knew what hit him." Andddd so an OC story was written with none other than ConcreteAngel (aka Ceara) making an appearance! Yeah. Onto the depressing stuff now.
TRIGGER WARNING: Violent, heartbreaking death.
Musichetta returned the drawing only two days after borrowing it. However, when she went to the tenement and asked for Éponine, Faye just shook her little head, tears pooling in her eyes. Musichetta herself felt close to losing it. She had ignored Éponine for so long and now that the two had finally reunited, they were torn apart by death… Again.
She returned home with a heavy heart and fell into Henri's waiting arms. Dubhghlas was at work, for although he was now supported by the Enjolras's, he felt obligated to continue assisting Paris in any way he could. Small things made the biggest difference.
"But what I continue to wonder even now is what happened to Ceara?" Henri murmured into Musichetta's messy hair. His wife sat up from where she'd been lounging in his arms and looked at him closely.
"Do you really wish to destroy the illusion of mystery that surrounds her?" When Henri nodded, Musichetta sighed. "It will break Dubhghlas's heart."
Henri helped her to stand and watched from their living room as she disappeared into the master bedroom and retrieved a small, stained piece of parchment. She turned a lovely rose shade when she met Henri's inquisitive glance.
"Is it so bad that I kept it?"
'It' was the letter that Joly sent with Gavroche. Musichetta remembered always the cute way that Bossuet and Joly signed the bottom, signaling that they both would love her until their very end.
"Non." Henri assured her. "May I see it?"
She complied, and Henri slowly began to read the tiny handwriting that belonged to a late man by the name of Georges Leslie, who went by the loving nickname of 'Joly'.
Dearest Musichetta,
I cannot believe that we thought that we would win. I feel like a traitor here, writing you of our inevitable destruction. I cannot return to you, ma cherie, for I owe Enjolras my duty. It is that atop the fact that I had to be the one to deliver the news to him….
In the mass chaos of the first wave, little was noticed but blue and red uniform. The revolutionaries were caught in the adrenaline, not noticing if their comrades fell around them. Bahorel was the first to fall, a bayonet caught him in the chest.
He was stuck on an outcropping table leg, unable to move due to his injury. Blood had filled his mouth, rendering him mute but for soft gurgling sounds that went unheard. That is, until a figure climbed up the barricade to dislodge him.
Bahorel merely shook his head, wishing rather to die in this painful position than to put sa petite soeur in danger. For Ceara snuck into the barricade in the midst of the fighting, sticking to the shadows so as to not alert any of Les Amis of her presence. She had tried to distance herself in the few days between Lemarque's death and his funeral, but she found herself seeing Enjolras's eyes in the face of every man she encountered. He was like a drug, she could not stay away for too long lest she wasted away.
She tried, and failed, to dislodge her dying friend. She was the only one with him when the light faded from his eyes, and she allowed a choked sob to escape- the only sound she'd made all day. Ceara closed her friend's eyes and began to try and get off the barricade. When she hopped to the ground, she failed to spot the soldier atop the barricade, the one who had his gun pointed directly at her.
The shot was fired, and she heard it in time to duck. She was too late even so. The bullet ripped through her back and she collapsed. Her head slammed on a half-upturned cobblestone with a sickening crack, but in the gunshots and yells, nobody heard.
Alone, in the shadow of the ominous barricade, Ceara's world faded into black.
We tried to hide her so as to not worry Enjolras. This was requested by Grantaire, for apparently there is something going on between the two of them! Who would have thought it? The gamine and the revolutionary. Actually, now that it's on paper, it makes perfect sense. To think, I've been fiddling with your ribbon all this while in distress over the two secret lovers!
I had to tell him, though. I waited until the most opportune time, shortly after they sent away those with families.
Ceara awoke in extreme pain. There was a rag in her mouth that caused her screams to be muffled, and yet they were loud enough to be heard by the man who shared the room with her. She was a touch pleased to discover that the rag had been soaked through with wine, causing the pain to lessen slightly under the influence of alcohol.
"You're awake." Said a familiar voice from beside her. She heard a loud thump as a gun was put beside her on the bar, and a face came swimming into view through her tears. "What were you thinking?" Since he appeared so lucid in her watery vision, she couldn't tell his expression. His words were angry and his voice was worried, which gave her enough of an indication.
The rag was wrenched from her mouth. "It hurts," She whimpered, sounding like a little girl. Grantaire nodded and she felt a hand gently touch hers.
"Enjolras is going to be even angrier." He informed her, slowly. She grew panicked at this. Even in coming to the barricade she wished to remain hidden from his sight lest he send her away.
"Don't tell him, Grantaire, I beseech you!" She cried, reaching her hand to grasp at the collar of his shirt. In doing so, she noticed something strange about her body. Other than the pain, there was this strange numbness in her lower half. She tried to move her foot, but it didn't budge.
"Ceara, stop-"
"Grantaire, what has happened to me?" Her voice was ragged- even talking this small amount was too much for her.
"You were shot, m'amie." He told her, gently.
"But what is happening? Why can't I move?" She was in hysterics at this point, and suddenly a searing pain erupted from her wound, causing her to release a terrible cry of pain.
Grantaire hurriedly placed a hand over her mouth until she stopped screaming. "The bullet… It hit your spine and some other organs. You have no chance of living, you should have known better."
The bullet hit her back and broke into pieces. One portion clipped her spine, Musi, and even if she survives (which she shan't), she will be paralyzed from the waist down. Another bit of the bullet hit her lung-she breathes rather poorly. And I believe that the remaining piece pierced part of her heart.
Enjolras, he…. He did not take the news well.
"Joly, what is the meaning of this? There is work that must be done- ammunition needs to be distributed, the men need orders and-" Enjolras froze the moment that a high-pitched moan of pain cut through the air of the Corinth.
"Enjolras, she was found on the barricade, and she-"
Joly didn't even get to finish. Enjolras pushed past him and entered the room, seeing a frantic Grantaire trying to quiet her. Enjolras felt shaken at the very sight. She was laying spread-eagled on the bar, her hair fanning around her head. And there was blood, so much blood. It pooled from beneath her, trickling in a steady stream down the side of the bar.
"Ceara," It came out sounding more like a breath than a word, but it was heard by all parties in the room. Grantaire nodded towards Joly in the doorway and went to stand with him, granting the odd couple time to speak.
Before they left, Grantaire caught the hypochrondaic by the arm and muttered, "You have told him what needs to be done, non?"
"Not yet." Responded Joly sadly. "Not yet…"
She will be in so much pain for however long she is alive. Since we bandaged her and cleaned her wounds, we have simply slowed her death. You know that I am a religious man, Musi. I do not believe in murder for any reason, which is why I am tending to the injured instead of fighting. But on occasion a mercy killing is moral, and I'm afraid that is what we have to do.
"Why did you come here?"Once Enjolras found his voice, it was all he could do to not yell. She winced even then. "You know the danger, now you are-"
"Dying," She sounded choked. "I know." Enjolras frowned at this, and took her hand in his.
"What do you mean, dying?" He asked, and she moved her head so she could see him clearly. "Surely you are exaggerating…"
"Non. Apparently it was not a clean shot," She laughed bitterly before her face scrunched up in pain. "I shan't live, there is no chance of it."
Her accent was stronger than ever before in her weakened state. In fact, she struggled to find the right words for thing as she spoke, resulting in long pauses between her words.
"Why?" He asked, the anger returning. "Why would you come here when you know what is to happen? You know that most of us will die before the seventh."
"You are all I have left," She said, quietly. "Without mes Amis, I have nothing. I would end up in the Seine on the seventh if you all perished."
"Instead you are here." Enjolras managed. "Joly, Joly!" He called, and the medic came rushing in.
"Is something the matter? What has happened?" He began to prod at Ceara, who whimpered.
"Please, she says there is no chance of survival. Do something." Enjolras ordered. Joly turned away, and the leader grew frantic. "Do something, damn it!"
"I can't." Joly informed him gravely. "Even if I was to go to surgical measures, we would need transplants to replace her lung and heart. If we did that, she would die before the surgery was done."
She cried out again, causing a different pain to curse through Enjolras. He coughed to hide the tears that pooled in his eyes.
"Can you do anything to make it hurt less?" She pleaded, her voice growing softer.
Joly paused, unwilling to answer. Grantaire retrieved his spot by the window, aiming his musket and firing at a soldier who tried to sneak in through a hole in the barricade. Enjolras noticed their pointed ignorance and his eyes narrowed.
"There is something, isn't there?" He accused them. Joly sighed heavily.
"You are not going to like it, Enjolras." He walked to Ceara and whispered something in her ear. She took a rattling breath and nodded quickly, agreeing with whatever it was that he proposed.
"What is it, then?" Enjolras asked, looking between the three of them.
"To stop her pain you would have to put her out of her misery completely." Joly said. Enjolras's eyes widened in realization and he took a few stumbling steps towards where she lay on the bar.
"Non." He murmured. "Non! She is not a dog! I shan't allow this!"
"Enjolras, please." She said it in her native tongue, but he got the gist of what she said. He shook his head even more vehemently.
"When the barricade falls," He choked out. "I shall come for you."
She nodded even as another wave of agony gripped her and she clenched her teeth together as she groaned painfully.
Nobody even bothered to speak of who was to do it. Obviously it would be Enjolras, assuming he makes it long enough to see the barricade fall. Can you imagine that, Musi? You having to shoot me to put me out of my misery? It is morbid and heart-wrenching merely to think of.
Enjolras directly killed a man. A tear fell down his cheek for more than just the man's memory. It fell for his failed revolution, for Jehan, for Bahorel, and for Ceara. His hands shook even as he reloaded his gun, and that moment remained burned in his brain for hours. He remembered how the young artillery officer's eyes dulled immediately, the way the young man's mouth hung open in surprise.
He would have to do that to Ceara.
As he rested upon the barricade, he could hear Bossuet talking about him.
"I admire Enjolras. His impassive temerity astounds me. He lives alone, which renders him a little sad, perhaps; Enjolras complains of his greatness, which binds him to widowhood. The rest of us have mistresses, more or less, who make us brave. When a man is as much in love as a tiger, the least that he can do is to fight like a lion… All our heroism comes from our women. A man without a woman is a pistol without a trigger; it is the woman that sets the man off. He is not in love... It is a thing unheard of that a man should be as cold as ice and as bold as fire."
Enjolras had skill in pretending to not be listening. However, had anyone been within his general vincity, they would have heard him murmur the nickname given to Ceara by Grantaire. "Patria."
Oh! Men have been sent back to their families. Since I am writing you, I am obviously not one of them. Courfeyrac is, though. He is to be a father! Our Courfeyrac, can you believe it? He has begged to stay until the barricade falls, although I fear that he shan't escape at that point.
I love you, Musichetta. I feel like I don't tell you often enough. So does Bossuet, although at the moment he is doing the least-dangerous job on the barricade. He is keeping the mood light. As I write, he pokes fun at Enjolras and his celibacy, although we know it not to be true.
He misses you too. He has already lost the ribbon you gave him, but he takes care to hold mine when the fear becomes too great to bear.
You are here even with us. I know that your face is going to be the last thing that I see. If, by chance, they decide to not execute the medic, I shall return home to you a damaged man. I believe it would be better if I did not return at all, for if I changed I could hurt you the way I know it is too easy to do. I tease, ma Cherie.
I hope this letter finds you well.
With love,
Joly and Bossuet.
The remaining tables and chairs were flung against the door in a desperate attempt to barricade themselves in the wine shop. There was no escape, the insurgents knew that, but they would try to live as long as they could.
"Let us sell our lives dearly." Enjolras said. He saw Mabeuf's still form on the table and kissed the old man's hand. The symbol of the fatherland lay dead in the bottom floor of the Corinth. Patria herself lay close to dying on the second floor.
They all scattered- some went to the cellar, others out to the alley to beg for shelter. Enjolras's group climbed the stairs to the second floor. He went last, destroying the staircase in his wake. If any of the men found the sight of a dying girl to be strange, nobody made the thought vocal.
Enjolras felt like he was wading in water as he came to the bar where she and Grantaire sat. "Grantaire, thank you." His face softened, and he spoke to the cynic in familiar terms, the way he never had before. "Try to leave this place."
The man just shook his head, amused. Ceara shifted slightly. She was more in the realm of the dead than that of the living. Her eyes were hooded and she blinked slowly. Her lips were slightly parted as though she didn't have the energy to close her mouth or open it wider.
"Death lies on her like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of all the field." Grantaire murmured. Ceara managed a wan smile through the pain that was so intense it was nearly numb.
"Romeo and Juliet? Really?"
Enjolras cracked a smile and reached for the pistol that he'd saved for the occasion. However, as he held it before her he found that he lacked the courage. Her weak arm lifted and her hand wrapped around his, guiding the barrel to her temple. Her pointer finger lay atop his, their entwined hands brushing the trigger.
She smiled sweetly. "I can see my family, and I shall see you soon, shan't I?" She asked. He nodded, wordlessly. "I adore you." She whispered.
"And me you." He responded. It was all he could say, for her finger was pressing his with slight urgency. He could hear as the soldiers climbed the skeleton of the staircase to reach the second floor. He kissed her as the shot rang out.
Grantaire pulled her from the bar, stowing her body behind it in case the soldiers had malicious intent. Enjolras stood in a daze before he crossed to the billiards table and stood there. Grantaire was hidden by the bar as he tried to place his dead muse in as best position as possible.
"He is the leader! It was he who slew the artillery man… Let us shoot him down on the spot." Said the first soldier to come to the second floor.
"Shoot me." Enjolras said in a strangely clear voice. He tossed aside the pistol that killed Ceara and bared his chest for the shots that were sure to come.
"I feel as though I would be shooting a flower…" Murmured the sergeant. The twelve soldiers surrounded him in a semi-circle, all raising their guns.
"Take aim!"
An officer stopped the sergeant and looked to Enjolras with the slightest bit of sympathy in his eyes. "Do you wish to be blindfolded?"
He looked sparingly over to the bar. He could still see her blood soaked into the wood. "No."
"Was it you who killed-"
"Yes." He answered without waiting for the end of the question.
It was then that Grantaire stood from his place behind the bar. "Long live the republic! I am one of them." When he was met by blank stares, he rolled his eyes and repeated as if speaking with a poorly behaved-child. "Long live the republic, I am one of them."
He pushed past the executioners and took his place beside Enjolras. In the moment that the artist stood beside him, Enjolras mused that it was thanks to the cynic that he even met his Patria. He owed him, and it was a shame that they were to go to their deaths before he could repay him.
"May as well kill two birds with one stone." Grantaire reasoned. Turning gently to Enjolras, he asked, "Do you permit it?"
He clasped his admirer's hand with a genuine smile. Little did Enjolras know, but that one act was more than enough to fill his emotional debt to Grantaire. As the two of them turned to face the guns, Enjolras swore he saw a flash of caramel hair behind them. His smile grew larger.
The smile had not faded when the reports resounded.
I apologize for any typos/weird mistakes/other things. I did not read this over, at all.
I had two different death scenarios for Ceara, but this one flowed better. The other had her come down with cholera and she hid out in the Corinth to avoid them and Grantaire found her there when he went to go drink.
So, um, yeah. One more chapter to go, and that one will be half happy and half sad, because I bet you are all wondering what the hell happened to our darling Courfy.