[ For a moment, Grantaire simply watches quietly as Enjolras paces, that same old soft gaze on his face. It’s true, Jehan is better suited for news of the political variety. Grantaire has little interest in it at all, but he doesn’t often see Enjolras like this, and the lack of cruelty in his voice is enough to shock. He's genuinely interested in what has him so excited. ]
My lack of political ideals have not made me deaf. I would like to hear it all the same.
[Again there's a pause in which Enjolras does actually manage a frown in Grantaire's direction, judging the man to see if he's being mocked.]
I have a met a man. He lives in Paris in the year 1899. I have learned from him more of the fate of France. [It won't do to pace. Enjolras crosses the room to lean on the table next to Grantaire. He has one hand on the table, the other on Grantaire's shoulder.]
[ He blinks, as though against the sun, and the weight of Enjolras’ hand on his shoulder immediately makes him feels as if he’s died all over again in the best way. He still takes too much comfort in the moments before their deaths.
He vaguely wonders if they’ve met the same man, but he suspects Enjolras would have noticed if he had been speaking to his own mirror image. It’s something he can’t think to ask about anyway. Beneath Enjolras’ gaze, his throat is made too tight and too many words die on his tongue. All he can manage is: ]
[It is not the response Enjolras expects nor really the one he wants. Hhe'd prefer the man came to his feet, eyes bright with the hope of what Enjolras is about to say. But he is about to say the words to another for the first time. It is an indescribable joy to speak them:]
The France of 1899 is a republic.
[Barely half a century away! But that is not all Enjolras has to say. But he will contain himself; he wants to hear a reaction.]
[ Ordinarily, Grantaire wouldn’t care. He never abhorred the monarchy in the same way that his friends did. In truth, he never thought of it much at all outside of meetings, but he made himself a part of this when he refused to stop attending those meetings.
He doesn’t feel nothing. In fact, there’s a rare spark of gladness in his pitiful heart when Enjolras speaks those words. This is what his friends died for, and it’s good to know that it wasn’t all in vain. Sixty-seven years is quite a long time, but not nearly as long as it could have been.
Perhaps it’s Jehan’s insistence that they don’t argue, or perhaps it’s simply the fact that he’s been made so silent beneath Enjolas’ gaze, but he has no argument at all. Grantaire actually rises to his feet, and dares to lay a shaking hand upon Enjolras’ shoulder. ]
Then I am glad for you.
[ His eyes aren’t bright. They’re soft and ridiculously gentle, but he’s smiling all he same, and it’s genuine. ]
I'm sorry it had to be me you told first, rather than Prouvaire.
You're a citizen of France, or you were when we were alive. [The news is too good, he can't help his smile.]
But that is not the best news. He said that he thought there had not been a French king for at least half a century, perhaps more. [Grantaire is not an idiot. Enjolras will not explain the math to him. That means within a decade or so after their deaths it had happened.] Change, Grantaire. Lasting change.
[It is a struggle to keep his grip only firm on the man's shoulder. His excitement is such that his grip may be tighter than is comfortable.]
[ Grantaire isn’t half the idiot he believes himself to be, at least, but math never did come easy to him. He silently wishes for a scrap of paper to work it out. Better that than in his head, but it takes him far too long to work it out. Enjolras is smiling and that’s such a rare and precious thing that calculations hardly seem to mean anything. The grip on his shoulder is nearly painful, but worth it. It’s only distracting.
Grantaire gets that number eventually, though, and he’s actually shocked by how soon after their deaths it happened. He’d always believed in Enjolras, always believed in his ability to make things happen, but he lost what dim glimmer of hope he had on that barricade. In his heart, he always knew his friends were going to die, but perhaps it hadn’t ended with their deaths. Perhaps they had brought about change after all. ]
Change brought about by you.
[ He just feels his belief in Enjolras being further cemented in this moment. ]
By the people. [It feels like a hymn to say it. A sacred declaration of the future which he always knew would come.] The men and women of France- rising against the king. Declaring liberty above all- even above their own lives!
[He can't he so still and say this! He gets to his feet again, his hand still on Grantaire's shoulder.] Have you anything decent to celebrate with? At last there's something worth drinking to.
[Perhaps it's his own optimism, but he has the sense that Grantaire is moved by this. Best to capitalise on it.]
[ That is one thing he doesn’t believe. Perhaps it was the people in the end, but the people weren’t the source. It was Enjolras. It was Enjolras and his words who inspired and stirred the people to rise. He doesn’t argue this point. If he does, it may break the spell entirely. ]
I—yes.
[ He blinks, clearly surprised by the request. His drinking is usually vehemently discouraged. He’s hesitant to move away, but he does, allowing his hand to slide away from Enjolras’ shoulder. ]
I could never deny such a request.
[ He doesn’t have a large supply of wine here, but he does have something decent. He doesn’t pour it gracefully; not with his hands still shaking as much as they are. ]
[ Grantaire is behaving very strangely—for Grantaire, at least. When he would ordinarily be brimming with paragraphs of nonsense, he has far too few words to say. When he would ordinarily be eager to drink at a moment’s notice, but he hesitates in Enjolras’ presence.
He does allow himself to be pulled to his feet, but he very nearly stumbles. It’s neither patriotism nor pride. It’s simply the fact that his hand is in Enjolras’ again. He forgets to let go as he raises his own glass. ]
To—…?
[ He can’t seem to come up with anything. Leave it to Enjolras. This is his moment, after all. ]
There's no hesitation in what to say. He speaks as though he was born to say the words.] To the citizens of France who fought and died for a future they never saw. To the citizens who ushered in the birth of the Second French Republique. To the citizens of the future who will benefit and fight for it on and on, until the end of France!
[Has he noticed they are still holding hands? Perhaps not. He drains his glass.]
[ He doesn’t even try to repeat it as a jape. He merely raises his glass a little higher, then drains it in one long swig. There’s so much he could say. He could mention that France is no more, he could say that there are no future citizens, but he doesn’t. For once, his pessimism dies, and he gazes at Enjolras like a man in a trance. He’s overcome with the need to say something, so clearly this can only end well. ]
I believed in you.
[ And he still does, more than ever. This has only reignited that believe. ]
Even when I claimed to believe in nothing, I always believed in you. I was right to do so.
[For all he has read and studied the rights of men and how change is to be achieved by them, Enjolras is still no closer to understanding this man. Instead he feels the ever-present current of frustration from being around Grantaire- this time that the man is incapable of saying what ought to be said- "to revolution here too!" or "to our friends!"
A miracle: he takes the time to set his glass on the table. He closes his eyes and refrains from a sigh.]
Don't spoil this.
[Don't belittle what we gave our lives for. Don't belittle what hundreds have achieved. Be serious.]
[ So, it was the wrong thing to say. He won’t apologize and he won’t take it back.
Although Grantaire is usually the one facilitating their arguments, the manner in which the two of them clash can sometimes be a frustration to him as well. Their hearts dwell in such different places that they may as well be true opposites. He doesn’t expect Enjolras to understand him, but sometimes he truly wishes he did. ]
Do my words offend you? I say only what the situation has inspired me to say.
[ He’s suddenly aware that he’s still grasping Enjolras’ hand. He doesn’t dare to grip tighter, even if he would like to. ]
[I believe in you? There is so much about that statement that Enjolras wants to argue about, but he has Jehan to tell. He wants others to appreciate this with him.]
[ It isn’t that Grantaire doesn’t appreciate the true matter at hand. It’s just that there are other things he appreciates more: offshoots of the main subject, things that others might view as small and insignificant. To Grantaire, those are the most important things of all.
He fills his own glass once more, raises it, then drains it yet again. ]
To the future of our nation, then, long gone though it is. Congratulations.
[ He can’t say he isn’t disappointed by Enjolras’ reaction. Grantaire seldom has passion for anything, but there is passion in his voice when he proclaims his belief in Enjolras. ]
[Wordlessly, Enjolras holds his glass out for it to be refilled.
His eyes are on the man rather than the glass, though. There isn't time right now to think on what's been said, his focus won't allow it while there's this triumph to be celebrated.
In Paris his mind wouldn't have allowed a further thought to go towards it at all, but here... it lingers in the back of his mind, another question mark surrounding the dark haired man he doesn't wholly understand.]
[ And wordlessly, Grantaire refills it. His hands don’t shake so wildly now that he’s ruined the moment, shattering some of Enjolras’ outward joy, but he is vaguely aware that Enjolras’ eyes are on him.
He expects to be scolded further, but he thinks that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s what he’s used to. It’s familiar enough to him that he doesn’t hate it. It’s better than being completely ignored or asked to leave: something that he doesn’t think his heart could handle for a second time.
Cruel words don’t come, though. Only silence, and Grantaire presses further in an attempt to fill it. ]
But why, Enjolras? Please, answer me this. Why is it so wrong for me to believe in you? Is it not better than believing in nothing at all?
[ There’s still a hint of that passion even as he speaks now, a touch of brightness in his eyes. He isn’t lying. Despite believing in nothing else, he truly, genuinely believes in Enjolras. ]
If I could change my beliefs to fit your preference, I would do it, but I cannot force myself to believe in anything else.
[ Grantaire knows that he’s taken action on his beliefs, but only once. Without the ability to repeat that single moment, he’s at a bit of a loss. ]
Must a man take action on all of his beliefs more than once?
[ It isn't that he doesn't want to, it's more that he doesn't know how. He would do a great deal for Enjolras, but an opportunity hasn't presented itself. ]
[Again Enjolras sets the cup down. If Jehan isn't here he will go and find him. Later he can return and they can argue to their hearts' content about what it means to believe in something. Perhaps it's that Grantaire doesn't understand the meaning of it.
Before he can declare his intentions, Grantaire continues. More than once? That surprises him.] Once would be enough.
[ Grantaire has entirely forgotten about Jehan for the time being. He’s found himself too wrapped up in this particular subject, and his desire to argue is strong. ]
I’ve already acted upon it, once.
[ He knows the truth won’t please Enjolras, but it isn’t as though things can get any worse for the two of them. ]
[ His brow furrows. He had nearly forgotten that night. Too much guilt and too much wine have helped him to thoroughly block out that particular mistake, but Enjolras has managed to dredge it back up. ]
Ah.
[ Part of him wonders how Enjolras learned of his failure. Another part of him feels as though he should apologize, but it’s far too late for that. The revolution has come and gone, and the men at the barrier-du-maine are of no help to them now. He’ll get sidetracked if he doesn’t focus on the subject at hand. ]
It was not at the barrier-du-maine, but in the room above Corinthe.
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My lack of political ideals have not made me deaf. I would like to hear it all the same.
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I have a met a man. He lives in Paris in the year 1899. I have learned from him more of the fate of France. [It won't do to pace. Enjolras crosses the room to lean on the table next to Grantaire. He has one hand on the table, the other on Grantaire's shoulder.]
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He vaguely wonders if they’ve met the same man, but he suspects Enjolras would have noticed if he had been speaking to his own mirror image. It’s something he can’t think to ask about anyway. Beneath Enjolras’ gaze, his throat is made too tight and too many words die on his tongue. All he can manage is: ]
Yes?
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The France of 1899 is a republic.
[Barely half a century away! But that is not all Enjolras has to say. But he will contain himself; he wants to hear a reaction.]
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He doesn’t feel nothing. In fact, there’s a rare spark of gladness in his pitiful heart when Enjolras speaks those words. This is what his friends died for, and it’s good to know that it wasn’t all in vain. Sixty-seven years is quite a long time, but not nearly as long as it could have been.
Perhaps it’s Jehan’s insistence that they don’t argue, or perhaps it’s simply the fact that he’s been made so silent beneath Enjolas’ gaze, but he has no argument at all. Grantaire actually rises to his feet, and dares to lay a shaking hand upon Enjolras’ shoulder. ]
Then I am glad for you.
[ His eyes aren’t bright. They’re soft and ridiculously gentle, but he’s smiling all he same, and it’s genuine. ]
I'm sorry it had to be me you told first, rather than Prouvaire.
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But that is not the best news. He said that he thought there had not been a French king for at least half a century, perhaps more. [Grantaire is not an idiot. Enjolras will not explain the math to him. That means within a decade or so after their deaths it had happened.] Change, Grantaire. Lasting change.
[It is a struggle to keep his grip only firm on the man's shoulder. His excitement is such that his grip may be tighter than is comfortable.]
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Grantaire gets that number eventually, though, and he’s actually shocked by how soon after their deaths it happened. He’d always believed in Enjolras, always believed in his ability to make things happen, but he lost what dim glimmer of hope he had on that barricade. In his heart, he always knew his friends were going to die, but perhaps it hadn’t ended with their deaths. Perhaps they had brought about change after all. ]
Change brought about by you.
[ He just feels his belief in Enjolras being further cemented in this moment. ]
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[He can't he so still and say this! He gets to his feet again, his hand still on Grantaire's shoulder.] Have you anything decent to celebrate with? At last there's something worth drinking to.
[Perhaps it's his own optimism, but he has the sense that Grantaire is moved by this. Best to capitalise on it.]
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I—yes.
[ He blinks, clearly surprised by the request. His drinking is usually vehemently discouraged. He’s hesitant to move away, but he does, allowing his hand to slide away from Enjolras’ shoulder. ]
I could never deny such a request.
[ He doesn’t have a large supply of wine here, but he does have something decent. He doesn’t pour it gracefully; not with his hands still shaking as much as they are. ]
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He takes his glass when its filled-] Come, join me in a toast!
[If he has to, he'll attempt to pull the man to his feet.]
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He does allow himself to be pulled to his feet, but he very nearly stumbles. It’s neither patriotism nor pride. It’s simply the fact that his hand is in Enjolras’ again. He forgets to let go as he raises his own glass. ]
To—…?
[ He can’t seem to come up with anything. Leave it to Enjolras. This is his moment, after all. ]
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There's no hesitation in what to say. He speaks as though he was born to say the words.] To the citizens of France who fought and died for a future they never saw. To the citizens who ushered in the birth of the Second French Republique. To the citizens of the future who will benefit and fight for it on and on, until the end of France!
[Has he noticed they are still holding hands? Perhaps not. He drains his glass.]
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I believed in you.
[ And he still does, more than ever. This has only reignited that believe. ]
Even when I claimed to believe in nothing, I always believed in you. I was right to do so.
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A miracle: he takes the time to set his glass on the table. He closes his eyes and refrains from a sigh.]
Don't spoil this.
[Don't belittle what we gave our lives for. Don't belittle what hundreds have achieved. Be serious.]
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Although Grantaire is usually the one facilitating their arguments, the manner in which the two of them clash can sometimes be a frustration to him as well. Their hearts dwell in such different places that they may as well be true opposites. He doesn’t expect Enjolras to understand him, but sometimes he truly wishes he did. ]
Do my words offend you? I say only what the situation has inspired me to say.
[ He’s suddenly aware that he’s still grasping Enjolras’ hand. He doesn’t dare to grip tighter, even if he would like to. ]
I speak the truth. Would you prefer a lie?
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I prefer to celebrate the future of our nation.
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[ It isn’t that Grantaire doesn’t appreciate the true matter at hand. It’s just that there are other things he appreciates more: offshoots of the main subject, things that others might view as small and insignificant. To Grantaire, those are the most important things of all.
He fills his own glass once more, raises it, then drains it yet again. ]
To the future of our nation, then, long gone though it is. Congratulations.
[ He can’t say he isn’t disappointed by Enjolras’ reaction. Grantaire seldom has passion for anything, but there is passion in his voice when he proclaims his belief in Enjolras. ]
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His eyes are on the man rather than the glass, though. There isn't time right now to think on what's been said, his focus won't allow it while there's this triumph to be celebrated.
In Paris his mind wouldn't have allowed a further thought to go towards it at all, but here... it lingers in the back of his mind, another question mark surrounding the dark haired man he doesn't wholly understand.]
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He expects to be scolded further, but he thinks that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s what he’s used to. It’s familiar enough to him that he doesn’t hate it. It’s better than being completely ignored or asked to leave: something that he doesn’t think his heart could handle for a second time.
Cruel words don’t come, though. Only silence, and Grantaire presses further in an attempt to fill it. ]
But why, Enjolras? Please, answer me this. Why is it so wrong for me to believe in you? Is it not better than believing in nothing at all?
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He does not want this interruption, this unplanned interjection into what ought be a day of triumph. There is only one response.]
You believe in me? There are other things I would prefer.
[And yet he hasn't missed the passion in Grantaire's voice. He dislikes how it makes him wish to be less severe with the man. He doubles down.]
A man must take actions on his beliefs. [Surely Grantiare is incapable of it, his tone implies.]
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If I could change my beliefs to fit your preference, I would do it, but I cannot force myself to believe in anything else.
[ Grantaire knows that he’s taken action on his beliefs, but only once. Without the ability to repeat that single moment, he’s at a bit of a loss. ]
Must a man take action on all of his beliefs more than once?
[ It isn't that he doesn't want to, it's more that he doesn't know how. He would do a great deal for Enjolras, but an opportunity hasn't presented itself. ]
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Before he can declare his intentions, Grantaire continues. More than once? That surprises him.] Once would be enough.
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I’ve already acted upon it, once.
[ He knows the truth won’t please Enjolras, but it isn’t as though things can get any worse for the two of them. ]
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His reply is immediate.] At the barrier-du-maine? Don't be an idiot.
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[ His brow furrows. He had nearly forgotten that night. Too much guilt and too much wine have helped him to thoroughly block out that particular mistake, but Enjolras has managed to dredge it back up. ]
Ah.
[ Part of him wonders how Enjolras learned of his failure. Another part of him feels as though he should apologize, but it’s far too late for that. The revolution has come and gone, and the men at the barrier-du-maine are of no help to them now. He’ll get sidetracked if he doesn’t focus on the subject at hand. ]
It was not at the barrier-du-maine, but in the room above Corinthe.
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