For some reason, when I was walking home from school, I came up with this. I blame the discussions Delphine and I have had over which Miz would be best at which instrument. Yeah...real weird.

And of course, a disclaimer is unnecessary, as you all know that I am not Victor Hugo. Nor am I Ludwig van Beethoven. Or St. Agnes, for that matter.


Enjolras sighed deeply. It had been another fruitless day of work at the Café Musain. Grantaire had gotten so drunk he passed out, Jolllly had to leave early for fear that he might catch some deadly illness, what with all the people around, and Combeferre hadn't shown up at all. He was just walking past Combeferre's apartment when he heard something completely unexpected. Intruiged by the sound, he climbed the steps and stood in Combeferre's open doorway.

His friend was cradling a violin against his chin, his brow furrowed and his hair hanging loosely in gentle waves about his shoulders. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he didn't seem to notice. The long, graceful fingers of his left hand flitted about the strings like a moth about a light and in his right hand clasped a bow. Combeferre was playing with great passion, the notes flowing like the clearest spring water from the strings. He hit the last note loudly and clearly on the downbow.

Enjolras finally spoke. "Well, well, Ettienne. I never thought you to be a musician."

Combeferre finally looked up from the music. "Celestin? I'm terribly sorry, I didn't notice you were there. Do come in, make yourself comfortable," the other boy said as he wiped the beads of perspiration from his face.

"You've never mentioned this to any of us before. Why not?"

"I don't know, I just didn't...want you all to laugh at me, say I was silly for wasting my time with the violin when I should be doing something productive," Combeferre said sheepishly. "But have you ever seen a symphony play? It's beautiful. They begin together, stay together, and end together. When one man makes a mistake, the others keep playing, never stopping. And oh! The conductor. He is their leader. The orchestra follows him; they pay the closest attention to everything he does--they obey his every command. I suppose you could say that we Amis are the orchestra and you are our conductor."

Enjolras pondered this for a moment. "Yes, I suppose you could say that," he conceded. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get home." He stood, took his jacket, and left.


The whole time he was walking home, he thought about what Combeferre had said. "...They begin together, stay together, and end together. When one man makes a mistake, the others keep playing...I suppose you could say that we Amis are the orchestra and you are our conductor." 'We need to just that--be a symphony. No matter how many men die at the barricades, we must keep fighting.'


The next day at the Musain, Enjolras presented his idea to his comrades. "Friends, the time is arising when we must take up arms against the National Guard. Many of us will die in the battle, others will live on to mourn the dead. No matter what happens, we must be a symphony. If one man falls, keep fighting. Do not be discouraged. Continue to defend the barricade. We will begin together, stay together, end together. Like a symphony."

"Begin together!" came Courfeyrac's voice.

"Huzzah!" came the voices of the other Amis.

"Stay together!"


"End together!"



The night of the barricade came. Enjolras reminded his friends of their promise to fight like a symphony. Muskets and carbines in hand, the brave revolutionaries took their places on top of the barricade. A shot rang out. The fight had begun.

Jehan was the first to fall.

The symphony kept playing.

Bahorel, L'Aigle, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Jolllly--all died.

The symphony kept playing.

Combeferre was stabbed through the chest three times by a bayonet.

The symphony kept playing.

Finally, the only two of the group left standing were Enjolras and Grantaire. They, like their fellow revolutionaries before them, fell.

The symphony was through. But like they had promised Enjolras, their conductor of sorts, they had begun together, stayed together, and ended together.

Like a symphony.


This weird little fic was the product of too much Beethoven. Yes, I am a classical music freak. I'm the one humming Tchaikovsky incessantly.

Oh yeah, and if anyone cares, the piece 'Ferre is playing is Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major, Opus 61. It's a very lovely violin piece. Gnarr. Go listen to it now!