A/N: As to the identity of the boy in the last chapter: you'll see for sure in this one! Thanks so much to Percyjacksonfangirl11, Arwen2712, Phoenixflames12, and Jenna (guest). You guys rock! And now, chapter four...
-Marseillaise
"Liar!" Slap. "Never," slap, "lie," slap, "again!" Slap slap.
Enjolras moaned and looked down, blood spilling out of his mouth. Behind him, the mute youth he had spared from the guillotine earlier was making half-strangled noises and sobbing.
"Hold, Franz," another officer said to the one abusing Enjolras. "He has to be able to speak."
Franz grunted, and pulled Enjolras' head up by his dirty, matted hair.
"Do you understand?"
Enjolras nodded. No more lies. He had lied before, of course, not knowing they would torture the boy more.
And especially not knowing they would have killed Madame Tellier.
Enjolras flinched as the whip struck the young boy's back yet again, and when the knotted leather striped his own back he screamed.
Two for one. The boy was whipped twice, Enjolras was whipped once. Until they decided to stop and kill the boy, or he simply keeled over.
"Stop," he gasped, "I won't lie again. I swear."
"I know you won't. Not after this."
Enjolras bowed his head, but it was yanked up again.
"Watch."
-:-
La Châteaux Bordeaux was located almost exactly seven miles from Grantaire's cousin, his mother's sister's daughter. Leslie was three years Grantaire's senior, and she and her husband ran a small vinyard relatively near the city.
He had telegrammed her, and asked if it would be okay if he stayed with them for a week or two, and she had agreed. Grantaire could help with the vinyard, she said, and meet her two year old son.
And Grantaire could find a way to get into the castle turned prison, but he didn't mention it to Leslie. She and her husband weren't...supportive,.necessarily, of the Vichy Regime, but they were very grateful it hadn't been worse and content with it.
He made the trip in Courfeyrac's car, a beautiful thing that hardly ever got used. They didn't speak for much of the two-hour trip, but towards the end Courfeyrac turned to Grantaire.
"Be careful, okay?"
Grantaire snorted. "I am going to attempt to break into a Nazi prison, rescue our dear leader, and escape unscathed along with said dear leader. I'll be very careful, promise."
Courfeyrac sighed and continued driving.
When they arrived, Grantaire was greeted by Leslie warmly. He smiled courteously, but excused himself early to go to bed, claiming he was exhauseted from the trip. Leslie obliged.
Once he was settled in the guest room and confident that the door was securely locked, Grantaire pulled out a little leather-bound journal.
/Drove with Courfeyrac to Celie's house. Will attempt to scout out XXX tomorrow, if possible. Possible plan- red cross?/
Grantaire gnawed the tip of his pencil absentmindedly. The journal had been a gift from mother, before she died, part of a set of four. The paper inside was thick, heavy paper that was lightly textured- perfect for sketching. Grantaire smiled, the bittersweet memory returning to him.
Even at a young age, Grantaire had shown a knack for art. His sketches were immaculate, perfect to the last detail, and the few charcoals he drew were brilliantly shaded- all black stark against the white, the lines and curves flawless and confident.
The journal set had been in her closet, a birthday present that she would never live to bestow upon her son. Grantaire had found it one day, after a particularly rough fight with his father. Since then, he had used them sparingly, writing in fine, tiny handwriting only when monumentous events occured.
This was the third out of four. He had kept a sort of journal ever since beginning with les Maquis des Manises, something that was forbidden (for, should it fall into enemy hands, the result would be disastrous). But Grantaire had never cared much for rules, and he X'ed out important locations anyway.
Sighing, he flipped the page to a portriat of Enjolras he had started weeks ago. It was done in just crude pencil, and out of memory, but it still bore a striking resemblance to the fiery maquisard.
Grantaire doubted that Enjolras still looked that beautiful. He remembered a horror story he had heard of the prisons from a Red Cross member, and although it was clean (she suspcted they had cleaned it for her visit, however), the few prisoners she had glimpsed looked beaten, bruised, and bloody.
It hurt to think of Enjolras like that.
Which is why he couldn't fail.
-:-
"I will not speak," Enjolras mumbled, his gaze cracked and trembling.
"Yes, you will. You may think you can hold out, but you are not invincible. And you are cracking, Apollo. We'll find the cracks."
-:-
The young boy whom Courfeyrac had conversed with before gazed at his two charges. He called them Jacqued and Marc, although he didn't know their real names, or even if they had any. The ragtag group lived in the giant elephant in La Place de la Bastille, which was falling apart and barely held their weight.
Lived, the boy thought, was a strong word. Existed, maybe. Died.
He hurred along the streets until he found a suitable victim: a young man, dressed nicely but not too nicely, walking alone. Quietly, he sidled up behind the man, slipping a slim but deft hand into the man's pocket. He withdrew a ration card: bread.
The urchin almost cawed in delight. He hadn't had bread in four days. Suddenly, the man turned around.
"Excuse me, but do you know where a man called Courfeyrac is? You...look like you know your way around the streets."
"I might," the boy said, weighing his options. "What's it to you?"
The youmg man looked desperate. "He's been leaving at odd hours, and he won't tell me where he's going. I need to speak with him. If you find where he's going, please tell me. He's my roomate."
"Huh. I know where he is. But I ain't telling you. I'll ask him about you. Say, what's your name? I'm Gavroche."
"Marius. Marius Pontmercy. Tell him it's urgent."
A/N 2: WELL, whaddya think? Happy Bastille Day, by the way (and by that I mean I'm celebrating the day I loudly sang the French national anthem in public whilst wearing a French flag...)!
Do you think Grantaire will be successful? And what about Marius? What do you think he needs Courf for? Please review :)
-Marseillaise