Chapter Text
Enjolras watched the lookouts for a while, before thinking of something else. Giving one last glance to the men keeping watch, he turned and hurried back inside the tavern, searching for the boy he had seen with Bahorel earlier. He was small, and could easily slip through the ranks without notice.
He found the gamin in the lower room, making cartridges by candlelight. Instead of going to him, he settled himself in a chair, staring at the wall, thinking deeply. He hardly noticed when Gavroche got up and came to watch him, though he suddenly murmured. “You’re small.”
“Yes.” The boy cocked his head. “I am.”
“No one will see you in the darkness, go out and scout for me.” Enjolras straightened, looking at the child. “Go down the street, take a look, and come right back.”
“Little people are good for something then!” Gavroche said brightly. “Trust the little folk, don’t trust the big.”
Enjolras raised an eyebrow as the gamin continued, pointing to a man he’d seen join them that afternoon. “You see that man over there?”
“Yes.”
“He’s an informer.”
“Are you certain?”
“Mhm, he pulled me off the cornice of the Pont-Royal not even two weeks back.” Gavroche replied with utmost sincerity.
“Make sure he doesn’t leave.” Enjolras hastily turned on his heel to walk out, headed to find a few of the men he knew were dock hands. “Come with me, I need your assistance.”
The men followed readily and stationed themselves behind the man’s table, trying not to cause any suspicion. Placing his hands on the table and glared at him, speaking firmly. “Who are you?”
The man startled, staring a moment at the young man in front of him before smiling. “I see how it is.”
“Who are you?” Enjolras repeated.
“Who do you think I am?” Javert asked. “I tell you yes.”
“You are an informer?”
“I am a government officer.”
“What is your name?” Enjolras demanded.
“Javert.”
Enjolras frowned and raised his hand, gesturing to the men behind the table, who immediately seized Javert. “Search him.”
The men happily complied, and Javert was quickly bound and searched. They found on the spy his card, with his information on it, and Enjolras quickly read it over. Much to his surprise, he was who he said he was. “Tie him to the post.”
Seeing this, Gavroche bounced forward from where he was watching and declared. “The mouse has caught the cat.”
“Enjolras, who is this?” Combeferre, who had come in with Joly, Bossuet, Courfeyrac and several others who had noticed what was going on from outside.
“He is a spy.” Enjolras stared hard at Javert. “You will be shot ten minutes before they take the barricade.”
“Why not now?”
“We’re saving our powder.” Enjolras replied coolly.
“Kill me with the knife.”
“We are not assassins.” Enjolras turned to Gavroche, who he had just noticed. “Go and do what I instructed of you.”
“I’m going!” The gamin replied, though as he reached the door, he turned back. “I want his musket though.”
Enjolras nodded a little, unable to keep a small smile from gracing his lips as the little boy saluted him before darting out towards the opening of the barricade. He would be back, Enjolras hoped, with Information.
After the little boy left, Enjolras sighed, slipping out of the tavern again. He left one of the men to guard the spy, but there were other things that the leader needed to do.
While he was inside, the rest of the men had accumulated around one of the buildings outside, and the commotion drew Enjolras’ attention. The blond haired man arrived at the scene just in time to see Le Cabuc raise his musket towards the open window on the fourth floor of the house. “Will you open your door, yes or no.”
“ Non, monsieur , it is impossible!”
“You say no?”
“I say no, good-” Le Cabuc fired, and Enjolras frowned. This was a murderer, and he would have no murderers on his barricade.
Just as the man set the butt of his musket on the ground, Enjolras grabbed his shoulder, demanding. “On your knees!”
Le Cabuc turned to look at him, and Enjolras gave his most stony look. He was furious, and he cared not how much he was terrifying the man in front of him. “On your knees.”
Rather than wait for the man to do as he asked, Enjolras firmly forced him to his knees, his calm demeanor more terrifying that if he had exploded in anger. He felt the murderer shake under his hand, and was vaguely aware that the men of the barricade were coming to circle around the scene.
“Collect your thoughts.” Enjolras murmured, taking out his pocket watch. “You have one minute to pray or think, no more.”
“Pardon!” Le Cabuc begged softly, the rebel leader ignoring him. Instead, he watched the seconds tick by on his watch. One, two, all the way to sixty, where he clicked his watch shut, returning it to his fob.
He took the murderer by the hair and pressed his pistol to his ear, pulling the trigger before he had time to think about what he was doing. He let the body fall, pushing it away with his foot. “Throw it outside.”
Three men came forward to do as he asked, and Enjolras stood motionless, contemplating his actions. It is of utmost importance that they know what I have just done was wrong. ”Citizens, this man did something horrible, but I have done no better.” He started, lifting his head to look at the people he was addressing. His friends, men of all ages whom he did not know, all of whom were looking to him. “He killed a man, so I was forced to kill him. Alas, rebellion must still have its discipline. Yet assassination is still a great crime, I judged and condemned this man to death. I abhorred it, though I did it. In such a way have I judged myself, you will soon see what I have been sentenced to.”
“We will share your fate!” Enjolras looked up to meet Combeferre’s eyes as he cried out, giving a slight nod. While he would prefer to see his friends alive at the end of this, it was not his decision to make. If they wished to stay, they would stay, and if death came for them all, that was not under his control.
“So be it.” The blond headed man returned his gaze to the rest of the crowd. “But allow me one word more.” He spoke about death, and the rebels listened. When he was finished, he fell silent, staring at the blood at his feet. He had just taken the life of a man. Of course, he had done such while fighting in 1830, but that had been different.
Later, Enjolras sat atop the barricade, watching the artillery. He had looked away for no more than a moment when he heard the sound of the cannon being loaded, with grapeshot no doubt. The cartridges, lumpy and packed tightly enough that the inner contents could be seen under the taut fabric were full of small balls, which would form a deadly spray once shot. “Get down against the barricade!” Enjolras called the minute he saw the torch being lowered to the flare out of the corner of his eye.
The men hurried back to their position, but some weren’t quick enough. When he was sure there was no danger of being hit by any shell, Enjolras stood just enough that he could see the commander of the artillery. Resolutely pressing his lips together, he took his aim.
“What a horrible thing war is,” Combeferre murmured from beside him, and he listened to his friend speak, though his aim never wavered. “You’re not looking at him, Enj, he could be your brother.”
“He is,” Enjolras said softly, preparing to shoot.
“And mine as well. Don’t kill him, please.”
“I must do what I must do.” As he pulled the trigger, Enjolras felt a single tear slip down his cheek, running a trail through the powder that blackened the right side of his face. Beside him, Combeferre bowed his head.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Enjolras barred the tavern door, pushing what little he could find to barricade it. There were a handful of survivors inside, and he wished to buy them a little time. Once the insurgents had done all they could, they prepared themselves for the siege. Enjolras headed towards the stairs, pausing to kiss old Mabeuf’s hand as he passed by. He fought valiantly. Enjolras reflected as he tucked the wrinkled hand under the shroud. Then, he joined the rest of the men on the second floor, nodding to them. This would be the end, he could see that much.
It took little time for the National Guard to break through the barricaded door and swarm the lower floor of the tavern. The valiant men in the upper room waited until they were close at hand before firing, knowing it was their last volley. After, they set their firearms down and Enjolras distributed the wine bottles to use as clubs. They wouldn’t last long, but they could inflict serious injury.
By the time the soldiers had made it to the second floor, Enjolras was the only one standing. He had watched each of the others fall, even as his carbine had shattered as he used it against the soldiers coming up.
He had no weapon but the barrel of that carbine as he stood against the wall, yet they left a large space between themselves and him. They were scared, and Enjolras could see it.
“This is the leader!” One of the soldiers cried, as another put in.
“He’s the one who killed the sergeant, let’s shoot him on the spot!”
“Shoot me.” Enjolras agreed, tossing his weapon away and crossing his arms.
The soldiers went silent as he agreed with him, until one laid his gun down, declaring. “It feels as though I am about to shoot a flower.”
Enjolras waited as they chose twelve men to form a firing squad, assembling themselves in the corner opposite him. “Take aim!”
“Wait.” One of the officers stopped the sergeant, turning to Enjolras. “Do you wish your eyes covered?”
“No.”
“Were you the one who killed the artillery sergeant?
“It was I.”
Before the soldiers could reform to execute him, a voice from the doorway interrupted. “Long live the republic! I am one of them!”
Enjolras looked up, thinking all who had fought with them were dead, or too wounded to continue. Much to his surprise, in the doorway stood Grantaire, with a more serious expression than Enjolras had ever seen on his face.
“Long live the republic!” Grantaire cried again, walking over to join Enjolras. “Two at one shot,” declared he.
Enjolras stared at him for a moment, stunned.
“ Permits-tu ?” Grantaire asked quietly.
Enjolras nodded, taking his hand. Just before the report of the muskets rang out, a soft smile found its way to his face.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Enjolras gasped as he came to, looking around. Grantaire, where is Grantaire. His mind raced with the knowledge that the cynic had chosen to die with him. For him to have still been alive meant he likely could have survived, he must have been somewhere the soldiers hadn’t noticed him.
He was so focused on trying to find the man that he hardly realized that he was no longer in the upper room of a tavern, much less in any building it seemed.
The walls here were stone of some sort, rough to the touch, and Enjolras deduced he was in a cavern of some sort.. He whipped around as he heard a noise, trying to find what made it.
Not seeing anyone or anything nearby, he decided to walk. He couldn’t get too lost in a cavern if he paid attention to his turns, could he?
Just as he was about to leave the chamber he was in, he tripped. Enjolras gave a little gasp and dropped to his knees, flipping the body he’d tripped on over to see his face. “Grantaire!”