~Freedom~

"Look here! This man is their leader! We will shoot him, at once!"

"Shoot me."

"Would you like to be blindfolded?"

"No."

"Take aim."

Enjolras drew in a deep breath and braced himself for the impact, as the soldiers loaded their weapons and Enjolras stared into the countless guns that were aimed at him. Three years ago, Enjolras remembered hearing almost these exact same words, spoken from the mouth of an army officer and from his own lips. He remembered the battle, the death, the guns, the pain. It had been three years since the deaths of his friends. For three years, Enjolras had continued to fight on in their names, in the name of the Friends of the ABC, and in the name of freedom. Enjolras had continued to fight, and to lead, and to be strong, just as he had promised his friends that he would. He continued to fight for Grantaire, who had given his life for the man he believed in.

Three years later, Enjolras had continued to fight for the people. Now, the battle, which he had led, was over. The rebellion had fallen, but it would not go in vain. Enjolras knew that it would fall before he even began, just as the June rebellion of 1832 had fallen, but he fought anyway. Now, as this rebellion had died, others would rise and continue to fight. The Revolution would never die. It was immortal like France. So long as there was still injustice there would be a hunger for justice, so long as there was a hunger for justice there would be a thirst for freedom, and so long as there was a thirst for freedom the Revolution would live forever.

Now, Enjolras remained alone in the upper room of the Musain Cafe, in front of the same window, cornered by the men and guns that would soon take his life. Everything seemed the same as it had been three years ago when the Friends of the ABC had died. In fact, nothing appeared to be any different, except for the thin scar across Enjolras's cheek, a scar from the rebellion of 1832, a reminder that would stay with him forever of that day, of the wound that had been bleeding when Enjolras woke up in the café moments before Grantaire died in his arms. Everything was the same, except this time, Grantaire would not step in the way to save him.

Enjolras stared at the guns before him, and he waited for them to fire. He waited to die. He was ready to die. He was ready to die for France, for the Revolution, for justice, and for freedom. He was ready to die for his friends. He was ready to join them in Paradise.

"On my order," the officer commanded.

Enjolras was not afraid to die, but now as he stood only seconds before death, staring Death directly in his repulsive face, in his hungry eyes, Enjolras felt his heart begin to pound in his chest. The reality of it hit him. Now, it was all going to end. He was going to die. For a moment, Enjolras wondered what it would be like to die. He wounded if it would hurt. Would it be quick or would he lie there for hours in pain and alone as he waited to die? He wondered what would happen after that. Surely he would meet God. Surely he would see his friends, again. But what would it be like? What did it matter? If he could see his friends, he would be happy. But even still, he could not help but be afraid.

For a blink of a moment, Enjolras felt doubt in his heart. But then he thought of his friends, of Combeferre, of Marius, and of Grantaire, and the sacrificed that they had made, and he brushed it aside. He raised the red flag high above his head and cried out in a loud voice, "Vive la Révolution!"

Not a second later, the officer shouted the order, "Fire!"

Then the guns went off. Enjolras saw the spark of the guns, the bright white flashes like lightning. He heard the boom as they were fired, the deafening roar like thunder. He had hardly perceived either of these things, when he felt the impact as eight bullets pierced him, at once. For the first moment, he felt only the impact, like being hit in the chest. The air was forced out of his lungs, he was knocked off of his feet, and he could feel his body falling backward. The next moment, pain like fire, burning, blazing, eating away at his flesh, tore through his body, through his chest, through his stomach, through his limbs, and it blinded him. Darkness came over his eyes and he could not see. He was trapped in a world of darkness and pain. He felt like he was on fire, burning in the inescapable flames of hell.

The next thing he was aware of, he could see blurry images of a roof above him, of the Café Musain around him, of soldiers moving past him. He could see but hardly feel one of them nudging his body with their boot. His senses were weak and his mind was dull. It took several moments before he realized that he was lying on his back and that his body was bathing in a bath of his own hot blood. Somewhere within the room, he could hear a weak, feeble moaning, like that of a dying animal. It was a long time, before he realized that these sounds were coming for from his own lips, and he attempted to silence himself. He could hear himself breathing, and he realized that his chest was heaving, that he was choking on blood as it came up his throat, and that a thin stream of it was draining out through the corner of his mouth. He was in a lot of pain, but his senses were so distorted that it was more like a blanket around him than daggers within him. For several long moments, he did not understand. But then he remembered the guns, and he knew that he was about to die.

But instead of being on this floor, drowning in his own hot blood, he felt more that he was trapped under a thin layer of clear water, perhaps under a gentle waves of a calm sea, that he was looking up through the water, and that he saw the sun high above it. He knew that this water would kill him. But it was so beautiful, that he hardly cared about this.

As Enjolras stared up at the ceiling above him, he could see a light. For a moment, he thought it was the sun, but then he realized that it was not. This light was bright and strong like the sun, but it was so different. The sun is white, but it is not pure. It is tinged with yellow and marked with dark spots and scars. This light was completely white, pure, flawless, and perfect. It was brighter than the sun, but it did not hurt his eyes to look upon. When this light touched Enjolras and fell upon him, a deep wrath seemed to pass through his body, filling him, touching his heart, and enveloping his soul. When this light touched him, all of the pain seemed to go away.

This was the most beautiful thing that Enjolras had ever laid eyes upon. He wanted to get to this light. As he looked upon it, he tried to go to it, and the light began to get closed, larger, brighter, stronger, and more beautiful. Enjolras could feel himself moving toward this light. His body remained still and cold upon the floor of the café, baking in hot blood. It was his soul that was moving out of the darkness and into the light.

At last, Enjolras reached the light. He was filled with warmth too pure to describe. Indescribable joy, happiness, and love thrived within him, and he had never felt more complete. Then, finally, the light passed through him, and all of the pain, the sorrow, the torment in his soul went away.

Enjolras was standing in a place like that of which he had never seen before. This place was far too glorious, too awesome, too perfect to be of the earth that the mortal man knows. This place was perfect, divine, beautiful in its splendor, and awesome in its glory.

This place looked much like the earth, but he knew that is was not. The earth was a wretched place of injustice, of misery, and of deceit. The Devil was at work in the world, the land of which he had been banished to years ago when he had fallen from Righteousness. The earth was a dark, perilous, toilsome, painful, and burdensome place. People were homeless, hungry, thirsty, starving, cold, in pain, and in misery. They had to endure the pain of illness, of poverty, of jail, of the loss of a loved one. Other people were deceived into doing the work of the Devil. The earth was a wretched place, and man was a hideous creature. But here, in this place, everything was perfect.

This land like none that Enjolras had ever seen. It was of glittering rivers, tall blossoming trees, and endless hills that swayed with tall green grass that glittered gold in the light. The entire land was illuminated by dazzling light. The pure white danced of the surface of the rivers, making them look like streams of white diamond glittering and dancing and radiating light like stars. The sky was a clear blue color, much like the sky of the earth, but it was pure, clearer, and more perfect. It shone radiantly with the pureness of the light.

Enjolras looked down at his hands, and found that they were no longer covered in blood. In fact, not a drop of blood remained on him, not a scar, or a scratch. His entire body was flawless. Perfect.

"Enjolras," a voice called his name. The voice was powerful and mighty, like that of the highest of kings. But it was also warm, and in it thrived boundless love. When Enjolras heard this voice, a chill seemed to fall over his body, and he was entranced by the awesome power in the presence of which he stood.

Enjolras turned to answer to He who was calling me. There standing before him was the King. He was so different than what Enjolras had expected, yet, also, He was just like he had expected. Just as strong, powerful, and mighty. But even more kind, gentle, and loving. This was the One King who Enjolras would never raise a figure to rebel against. This was the One King whom he submitted to. This was One King whom he followed. This was the One King whom he loved.

At once, Enjolras fell to knees at the feet of the King, his head bowed, and his face pressed against the grown. Tears burst out of his eyes and ran endlessly down his face. "My King…" he whispered, his voice so soft that he could barely be heard.

"Do not weep, child," the King said softly. He gently touched Enjolras's face and, wiping the tears from his eyes, gently lifted it so Enjolras could look upon him. When He touched him, such warmth and happiness fell into Enjolras that he could not describe.

The King smiled. "All of your sins have been forgiven. You have done well." He gently took Enjolras's hand and led him to his feet. Enjolras stood still in His presence, stricken with wonder to see His awesomeness. "Well done, my son," He said with a gently smile, just as an earthly-father smiles when he is proud of his child. "Well done."

Then He outstretched His arms and embraced his child. His arms were so warm, and gentle, yet so strong and powerful. He was like nothing that could have been imagined. Enjolras had never been warmer, safer, happier, than when he held in His Father's arms.

Then, the King led Enjolras through His Great Kingdome. It was multitudes greater and more awesome than imaginable. There were countless numbers of people in the King's kingdom. As they walked, the sweet sound of joyous singing came to my ears. They came to a place where many people were sitting happily in a magnificent garden, which was in full bloom, the trees green, and the plants blossoming with pure white flowers. All around them, the garden glowed with a Devine white light, shimmering purer and brighter than the sun. All of the people were smiling, and talking, and laughing. They were all happy. They were all singing, in clear, joyous voices, beautiful like the voices of angel.

We will live again in freedom in the Garden of the Lord!

We will walk behind the ploughshare,

We will put away the sword,

The chain will be broken, and all men will have their reward!

Will you join in our crusade?

Who will be strong and stand with me?

Somewhere beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing?

Say, do you hear the distant drums?

It is the future that we bring when tomorrow comes!

"Enjolras!" a familiar voice cried out beside him.

Enjolras turned his head to see who it was. At once, his face lit up, and even greater joy, if this was possible, began to burst with in him. "Combeferre!"

Yes, it was Combeferre. But he looked different. No, not different. Complete. He looked younger and happier. Not one line of sadness or worry stained his face. He looked at Enjolras and smiled. "Enjolras," he said quietly. "My brother…"

Sudden joy burst within Enjolras. He had never been so happy in all of his life. He could have stood there and cried of happiness for the rest of forever. But instead, he jumped suddenly forward and ran to Combeferre. They threw their arms around each other and began laughing and crying at the same time. They only finally broke apart when another joyful voice cried out, "Enjolras!" and he turned to see who it was.

"Marius!"

Marius laughed, and before Enjolras had time even to fully released Combeferre, Marius threw his arms around him, and they hugged each other as tightly as they could. Then Courfeyrac appeared, and Enjolras embraced him, as well. Combeferre, Marius, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Joly, Bahorel, Jehan, Bossuet, Gavroche, Éponine… They were all there. Enjolras's heart swelled with joy that radiated out of his soul as he embraced them all, pulling them into his arms and holding them closely. Then, at last, Enjolras turned, and his eyes fell upon the final member of the Friends of the ABC. The man who had saved his life.

"Grantaire!"

"Enjolras!"

Grantaire ran to him, and Enjolras, before he realized it, was running to Grantaire, as well. When they met, Grantaire was the first to immediate throw his arms around Enjolras's neck, pull him toward him, and embrace him as tightly as he could, causing them both to stumbled slightly from the impact. Enjolras hardly hesitated a moment before he wrapped his arms around Grantaire's back, and hugged him in return. Then, they held each other tight and close, smiling, laughing, and crying at the same time.

When he was alive, after Grantaire had died, and Enjolras had been left alone, there was so much that Enjolras wished that he could tell Grantaire, so much that he wished that he could change, so much that he wished to undo. But now, all of that was forgiven, a new life and a new beginning had started, and any quarrel that had passed between these two men in the past were forgotten. Now, Enjolras and Grantaire were brothers. They were all brothers and sister. They were all a family. As they all had the same Father.

Enjolras held Grantaire tightly against him, cradling his head in his hand and holding it closely against his shoulder. Then at last, Enjolras broke away from the embrace, and held Grantaire at arm's length, gazing upon him to admire him with pride and with joy. In the last life, Grantaire had always been dirty, poorly kept, with wild hair, and sloppy clothes. His body had been ruined by alcohol, his muscles were weak, his face looked sickly, and there was a wet redness to his eyes, his breath stank of liquor, and there was always a bottle in his hand. He was far from the handsome man that Enjolras was. He might have been handsome had he not been so consumed by alcohol, but instead he was ugly. But now… Now, he perfect.

He still looked the same, but his body, his entire being, had been glorified to its fullness, and he was beautiful. The wounds from the bullets were gone as if they had never been there, there was not a trace of blood upon him, not a bruise, or a scratch upon his flawless skin. His hair was still long, thick, curly, and somewhat unruly, but it was beautiful. His eyes, clear blue like the sky, were bright and joyful and no longer looked at all sickly or red from alcohol. In fact, there was not a hint of alcohol upon him. He did not drink it anymore. He did not need it anymore. Grantaire was perfect, flawless, beautiful. All of them were. They possessed an unearthly beauty, as it had not come form the earth but from Heaven. They each had the faces of angels.

Enjolras smiled warmly at Grantaire, who smiled back at him. "Welcome home, mon ami," Grantaire said quietly. "Well done."

"Enjolras," Combeferre said, laughing and smiling warmly. "We are so proud of you."

"I missed you," Enjolras said softly to them all. "…I missed you so much."

They smiled. "I know," Marius said. "But we have always been with you. You just could not see us."

Enjolras smiled and nodded. "I know."

"We have been waiting for you for a long time, Enjolras," Combeferre said softly.

"Of course, we were always with you, but we've missed you…" Jehan said with a gentle smile.

"And what does it matter?" Courfeyrac said happily. "Now, we are all together again! We will be together forever! And this time, nothing will ever be able to separate us again!"

"Yes," Feuilly agreed. "Now, we are together. Now, we are free."

"I have written many poems for you, Enjolras," said Jehan. "I will have to show them to you!"

Enjolras smiled and laughed, something that he had rarely ever done in the mortal life. "Of course, you have, Jehan. I would love to see them."

"Enjolras," Bahorel said, throwing an arm around his friend. "Wait until we show you all that there is to see here. It is so beautiful! You cannot imagine anything like it!"

"Yes, and there is not illness here either!" Joly added in with a smile. "No sickness, no diseases, no pain…"

"No bad luck either," Bossuet said with a chuckle, and the others laughed, as well.

"Yes, it is perfect here," Marius said, letting out a sigh of pure joy as he gazed at the beauty around him. "It is like the world that we always dreamed that France would become. Better even than that."

"Much better," Éponine agreed. She smiled as she approached Marius, and he gently wrapped his arm around her to embrace her. In the mortal world, Éponine had loved him. In this world, she still loved him. She loved him even more, even deeper, and even stronger. But now, she loved him as a brother, he loved her as a sister, and they were both happier than they ever could have been in the other life.

Gavroche smiled joyfully as he followed his sister, passed Marius, and ran to Enjolras. He smiled, and he took the child into his arms to hold him at his hip. "You were brave," Gavroche said with a grin.

"So were you," Enjolras said. "Well done, Gavroche. We could not have done it without you." He put the child down, and Gavroche continued to skip happily through the garden, singing of freedom, just as he had on the day of the rebellion of 1832. But now he was perfect and so was the world around him.

"Enjolras," Grantaire said softly bedside him, and Enjolras turned to face his brother.

"Yes, Grantaire?"

"I need to thank you for opening my eyes. If it were not for you, I would not be here."

Enjolras smiled gently and said to him, "Thank you, Grantaire. For everything. For saving my life, and for opening up my eyes, as well. You are a great man."

Grantaire smiled and said, "And you are a great leader."

"I do not have to be the leader anymore, Grantaire," Enjolras said. "Now, we are brothers."

Grantaire smiled and nodded. But then he grinned, let out a soft laugh, and said, "But, Enjolras. Do you think that I do not need you anymore? I still believe in you."

The End