Author: Daughter of Thranduil PM
Brief Oneshot. After Combeferre's death, Enjolras remembers their friendship. Please R & R.Rated: Fiction K - English - Tragedy/Angst - Enjolras & Bahorel - Words: 1,134 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 3 - Published: 03-22-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2856911
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The remainingrevolutionaries were dashing in all directions; engaging the soldiers with any weapon that came to hand. They were splattered with blood, stained with dirt and gunpowder; looking like ancient warriors from some bygone age as they were ruthlessly exterminated one by one.
All except one…
In the brief respite while the soldiers regrouped, a blond, slender young man with a handsome, beautiful face wandered through the bodies. He was yet unstained by the combat. In fact, he looked like the incarnation of a classical Greek hero; perfect and composed. His cheeks weren't even flushed though he had been fighting furiously just moments ago.
The young man's face paled considerably as he looked wildly through the bodies at his feet. It pained him to see so many friends relinquish their hold on life but, as his eyes locked on one in particular, his shoulders began to heave.
"No!" his voice was full of tears. He was on his knees in an instant, cradling a body to his chest. The body he was holding was that of a slim young man with hazel brown curly hair. He'd been stabbed three times with vicious bayonet thrusts and he'd lost an inordinate amount of blood. He was stone cold.
"No!" the blond revolutionary was sobbing, holding the body like the most precious crystal, his tears wetting the brown hair. "I'm sorry Etienne! I'm sorry!"
He cried heartbrokenly, repeating the name he would never again hear answered. He forgot, for one frantic moment,where he was for a moment and drifted off into his own thoughts.
I'm so sorry, Etienne. I didn't mean for you to die! Giving up my own life was nothing to me, but it was never my intent to bring you down too!
I never told you how much you meant to me! My kindly, compassionate, philosophical best friend; my brother in every way that ever mattered. I'd never have managed to be here today if I had not had you beside me.
Even when we we're children, you looked out for me. Though Antoine was bigger than us, you stood up for me when he picked on me, even if the result was a beating for us both. You comforted me when my father scorned me; telling me I didn't have to be anyone other than myself. You were always there for me.
I'll never forget the way you helped me when Nicholas died. I was distraught and I felt like I wanted to die. I'd lost my brother; the only member of my family that I cared for and who cared for me. I moped and mourned and once I even thought of suicide, but then you found me crying and you never left my side.
I'd have died, had it not been for you Etienne. You pulled me back from my depression, inviting me over to your estate so often that I practically lived there. You healed my heart with your gentle humour, your unending compassion, your loyal and constant affection. It was there, in your Papa's library that we discovered the revolution and began to dream of the future.
When you left for university, I felt like I'd lost half of myself. Without you in it, my world became totally unbearable. I fought with my brothers all the more, argued more often with my father and discovered that it was only your friendship which made my home life bearable.
I don't think you realised how overjoyed I was when I followed you to Paris two years later. Even so, I was still terrified by the sudden contrast in my surroundings; from the quiet country to the roaring city. But yet again you helped me.
You introduced me to a new life, to new people and helped me build my confidence up. You saw, as I saw, the injustice of the country and together we began to dream of the future.
Grantaire called me 'Our Fearless Leader' but I do not deserve such a title. I am nothing without you, Etienne. I would never be who I am today were it not for the way you have been there for me when I needed you. Sometimes, I believed that I did not deserve to have so wonderful a friend. I was unworthy of you.
I am so impatient at times, and I know I can be quite nasty when I don't consider other people's feelings. I don't think anyone else would have stuck with me so long. I never told you how much you mean to me and now I can't. I'm so sorry Etienne! I'm so so sorry!
The guards are coming back through the barricade again. I won't fight anymore. I could not live when you and Joly and Courfeyrac and all the others are dead. We have failed. I have failed you all. I would never have led you all here had I known this would happen.
I will make my last stand in the café just along the street. Don't go far, Etienne. I'm coming.
Enjolras stared calmly down the shining barrels of the firing squad muskets. He was not afraid to die. He had no wish to live now that all the other amis of the ABC were gone.
He tilted his chin up as he heard a bang and for about three seconds, he was pierced by eight searing, burning stabs of pain. They mellowed, though,and melted awayas everything went dim around him.
When Enjolras opened his eyes again, he found himself flat on his back, dazed by a bright light. He knew he was dead, but he felt like he was still alive. He was rubbing his wrists when the sound of a familiar laugh made his heart leap.
Suddenly, a beaming smile appeared above him and Enjolras sat up to see Combeferre, unbloodied and fresh, standing before him dressed as he would have been on a normal day.
"What are you waiting for?" grinned Combeferre, holding out his hand. "The others all want to see you."
Enjolras grinned back. Dear, kind Combeferre; the best friend he'd ever had. He let the curly haired philosopher pull him to his feet, they embraced fiercely for a moment, and then they walked away together.