Les Misérables
Summary: After studying about the dark past of surrounding kingdoms, Tanya asks Cedric and Sofia if any other kingdom ever had the same level of darkness. This leads to a very unexpected story, filled with despair, hope, severed and forged bonds, and preventable demise. Read Me a Story format! (Takes place 5 years after my season 5 stories)
Disclaimer: I don't own Sofia the First. I own Corban and some other OCs mentioned here. MarionetteJ2X owns Tanya and Nana.
A/N: Dark themes in here. If you've seen the original musical/play or movie, you know what is coming. Take care if the concept of taking one's life is troublesome for you. A little more uplifting in the next chapter. I promise. (And when I say *little*, I do mean…little. Lol)
Chapter 17: Irreconciled
Roland grunted under Desmond's weight, trying to rid his lungs of the disgusting stench of the sewers. One thing he knew—he desperately needed a bath once he got out of this place. But first, he had to see to it that Desmond got the necessary attention so his bullet could be treated. He didn't want this boy to be the last survivor of the barricade, only to die shortly thereafter. All those efforts and the passion Cedric and his friends had demonstrated would be in vain, and he couldn't let that happen.
Pressing onward, he made it to the end of the sewer, where the exit just above was covered by yet another grate. He carefully balanced Desmond on his back, using his belt and some rope to tie the boy's legs and arms in place so that he wouldn't slide off and into the putrid waste beneath his feet. Perhaps it was a good thing Desmond was unconscious right now…
Carefully, the former prisoner-turned-mayor-turned-fugitive-again climbed the steel ladder before him, trying not to think what the squishy, dark substance on the side of the surface was, especially when it oozed between his fingers and clung to his skin in splotchy, foul-smelling blots. Definitely…going to need a bath… Several baths…
Once he reached the top, he moved the grate aside, hoisting himself and Desmond onto the far sturdier and (mostly) cleaner ground. He untied the younger man's limbs and settled him on the pavement while he took the time to catch his breath and rest his weary body. And then he heard it… That voice, yet again…
"We meet again, 24601."
Roland lifted his eyes to see none other than Baileywick standing directly before him, a sharp sword clutched in his grip. "Baileywick…" He gestured toward Desmond, seeming a bit less composed and collected than he normally would. Of course, this time, it wasn't just his life in the balance; it was this innocent boy's life, not to mention the future of his daughter's happiness. "You have to let me go, please. This boy is close to death. He was shot at the barricade, and if I don't find someone who can get him some medical treatment, he's going to die."
"If he was at the barricade, he knew what he was getting into. I saw his face amongst the rebels. He's not as innocent as you'd like to think."
A bit deflated, Roland resorted to something he didn't want to use, but he was desperate. He pleaded with the older man, "Please, Baileywick… Just give me one hour to take the boy to a medic. After that, I will return to you with no resistance, and I will stop running. You have my word."
Baileywick wasn't sure what made him lapse in his usual steadfast ways. Perhaps it was his age now, or maybe his desire to no longer be responsible for the fugitive before him. Or maybe it was…something else. He simply nodded, a reluctant agreement silently established between them. He watched Roland stand and once again scoop Desmond into his arms before leaving. Warily, he looked behind him after hearing some shuffling and snickering. He hardly blinked at the sight of a ragged-looking Cordelia and Nigel looting off the many fallen and deceased bodies littering all of Zodia. What good would it do to stop them? To whom would he return the goods? Everyone around them was…gone.
No, instead, he wandered over to a bridge, and he leaned precariously over the ledge, watching in almost a state of mesmerization as the river water below him rushed tumultuously along. He couldn't fault Roland for helping others, especially a young man like Desmond, who had clearly only been fighting for what he believed in. All the boy's friends were dead, and who knew if he even had any family? What would become of him when—if—he survived? Would he remember the events and suffer? Would he forget about the whole situation—a blessing in disguise—and proceed with his life?
Baileywick's nimble fingers pressed firmly into the stony side of the bridge's raised platform, his pupils dilating as he continued pondering the circumstances. He also couldn't fault Roland for trying to help others… That girl he rescued from an abusive household… Raising her as his own, despite constantly having to watch his back for…him. For Baileywick… Truth be told, Roland's crime had been so small compared with many other criminals he'd encountered. Nineteen years…for a loaf of bread…
"Maybe he wasn't the problem at all," he murmured softly. "Maybe I was… To keep my reputation, my status… As a leader, a steadfast man of the law… Look where it's gotten me." His lust for justice had blinded him to the suffering of those around him, and he knew it. He'd distanced himself from his family, and he'd never even considered starting a family of his own. He'd never had time nor the occasion, and besides… What kind of life would that have been for his non-existent spouse or children?
"I…was the problem…this whole time…" He was so torn between his commitment to serving the law, and paying any mind to what little of a conscience he had left, that he made a rash decision. One that had often taunted him in the back of his mind, but he'd never acted on it… He'd always looked to the stars up above, instead of at the cold, black water below… "I wish you well, 24601… Roland… Your life is…up to you now…"
No one was around to witness Baileywick leaning against the edge of the bridge and muttering to himself. No one saw him slip onto the ledge, nor did they hear his sharp, shuddering inhale and exhale as he let go of the last bit of sanity that he had… And no one ever found his body after it disappeared beneath the rushing water of the sharp, dangerous river that cut straight through the heart of Zodia.
It was like he vanished from the world entirely, and perhaps… Perhaps it was for the best…
To be continued…
Next Chapter: Hope in the Wake of Tragedy