Chapter Seventeen: Wherever You May Go

The drum beat and the sound of trumpets announced the start of the final attack. They charged at the barricade, and almost overflowed it, but the insurgents fought back well. Bullets flew through the air from both sides, with equal resolution. All present were prepared to die for their cause. The troops wanted to end the rebellion; the rebels kept struggling to survive just a little longer. They knew they were losing, but they were determined to do as much damage as they could, while they could.

Grantaire saw with relief that Enjolras was sheltered, and was taking down men without them even noticing him. He seemed safe for now – the same could not be said for Marius. Half of him was completely exposed and he was firing without even looking. He looked like a ghost.

His friends were mostly in good spirits, especially Bossuet and Courfeyrac.

'What have you done with your hat?' Bossuet asked.

'They have knocked it off at last by their cannonade,' Courfeyrac answered.

'Does anybody understand these men,' Feuilly said, 'who promised to join us, and took an oath to help us, and who were bound to it in honour, and who are our generals and who abandon us!'

Combeferre answered, with an answer worthy of Courfeyrac, but in a bitter tone:

'There are people who observe the rules of honour as we observe the stars, from afar off.'

The barricade was assaulted countless times, but it always defended itself. Grantaire looked round to see what he could do. The answer lay littered on the ground before his eyes: there were so many wounded.

He ran up to them, checking their pulses – or sometimes just looking at them was enough to tell. There were significantly more corpses than injured, but he found the ones that could still be helped and took them to the 'infirmary'. There were some mattresses free – all wounded that were not on the point of dying were at the barricade, fighting.

He was surrounded by death, but somehow he felt like he had never been more alive.

When he went back out to the barricade, the situation had changed. The soldiers were still attacking, and the barricade was still defending itself, but barely. The insurgents were being killed.

Bossuet was shot in the head. He fell, and Joly rushed to his side. One didn't have to be a medical student to see that he was dead, but Joly cupped Bossuet's face with his hands and whispered reassurances to him. Grantaire didn't have the heart to tear him away.

Feuilly was struck over the head with the butt of a rifle, and Courfeyrac had been shot before Feuilly reached the ground. Courfeyrac still had a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. Grantaire closed them for him.

The same man who had shot Bossuet was advancing on Joly with a bayonet. He didn't care and didn't make any attempt to move. Grantaire threw himself at the guard, hoping to buy some time for Joly. The guard hit him in the stomach with the butt of his bayonet and Grantaire was forced to let go of him. The guard ran at Joly and pierced him in the back: he slumped down to the ground and lay by Bossuet as his eyes shut.

Combeferre was carrying a wounded man in his arms, when he was pierced by a bayonet. Three times.

He looked down at the blood seeping from his chest, then up at the sky. His lips moved as he whispered a few words. He fell with a smile on his face.

The centre of the barricade had so far been protected by Les Amis, but now only Marius and Enjolras remained, one at each end. The guard made one final assault; this time it succeeded.

There was nothing more to be done.

At this point, Grantaire thought, Enjolras would have wanted him to go to the first floor of the Corinthe. He knew there was nothing more he could do and should just go and wait for Enjolras. But he couldn't. Not when there were still men alive, fighting. They were men he didn't know, but they were just as important as his friends had been. It would feel too much like running away, so he stayed.

There was no order left amongst the insurgents. They fell back, and found themselves against the six-story house at the back of the barricade. They realised this was their only hope of salvation. They could go out the other side, escape the barricade, to freedom. They knocked on the door frantically, kicked it, hit it with the butts of their muskets. They called out, begged. Nobody opened.

Enjolras and some others formed a barrier around them, protecting them from the soldiers.

'Keep back!' he warned. An officer moved forward, and Enjolras aimed his gun directly at him. He understood the warning and stepped back.

He stood by the Corinthe, keeping the door open while fighting off the soldiers at the same time. The rest of the insurgents were still crowding round the door that would not open.

'There is but one door open. This one.'

Enjolras let them pass behind him and enter, covering them with his body, facing a battalion alone. He had given up on his carbine and was swinging it around, successfully disarming the soldiers of their bayonets. When the last man had gone in, he himself entered, and there was a struggle between the insurgents and the soldiers to close the door.

Grantaire had been one of the first to get in. Now, as the besiegers were hammering on the door, all the men were going up the spiral staircase. Somehow, he was pushed back behind the counter, so whoever had the job of cutting down the staircase did not see him.

With the only way up quite literally cut off, and the attackers breaking down the door, the only thing Grantaire could think of was to stay still.

The soldiers burst in and looked round. There was a moment of confusion as they saw no one there, but they quickly realised where they had gone. They were certain upstairs was the only possible place for all the insurgents to go, so they didn't search the room carefully.

They aimed their guns up where the staircase used to be, and fired. So did the insurgents. This lasted for as long as they had cartridges, which was not very long.

As the Guard mounted on each other's shoulders and made their way up the stairs, the insurgents utilised the last weapons they had: wine bottles.

This was a futile defence, and the basement room was soon empty.

Wearily, Grantaire stepped out from behind the counter. He looked outside onto the barricade: troops were taking it down.

The one on Rue Mondétour had been taken down completely, and the street was abandoned. With a little luck, and if he was quick, he could get out unnoticed.

He looked up at the ceiling.

It was silent, so there couldn't have been anyone there left alive. But then – why was the National Guard still up there?

A cry reached his ears:

'This is the chief. He is the one who started this. As he has put himself there, it is a good place. Let him stay. Let us shoot him on the spot.'

'Shoot me.' Undoubtedly, that was Enjolras' voice.

Grantaire saw what had happened. Enjolras had kept his promise; he was there. Grantaire needed to keep his.

He found a stool behind the counter, placed it under the staircase, and started to climb up. He had to hurry, but he also had to be quiet. He did not want someone to hear him and shoot him before he had even seen Enjolras. All the time, he was hearing the exchange.

'Take aim!' Grantaire's heart froze.

'Wait,' one of the officers said. 'Do you wish your eyes bandaged?'

'No.'

'Is it really you who are the chief?'

'Yes.'

At this moment, Grantaire reached the first floor. He saw the situation. Enjolras was in the corner of the room, behind the billiard table. The soldiers' eyes were all fixed on Enjolras, and they hadn't even noticed Grantaire. Enjolras had.

The look in his eyes turned from confidence to terror as he stared at Grantaire.

'GO!' he mouthed.

Grantaire saw what his two options were, and how they would both end. He did not hesitate for a moment.

'Vive la République! I belong to it!' Grantaire cried, in a voice more powerful than he had thought himself capable of producing.

'Vive la République!' he repeated, crossing the room with a firm stride. He walked before the muskets without fear, and took his place beside Enjolras. For he now knew that was his place.

'Two at one shot.' His voice was still strong, but this time it was drenched with emotion.

He turned to Enjolras, and his voice was at once incredibly gentle and incredibly expressive.

'Do you permit it?'

Enjolras did not move. A few seconds passed, and he was still a statue. Grantaire looked round at the men whose muskets were aimed at them. They were not even blinking.

Suddenly, something resembling a hurricane arose in front of him. As it moved closer he saw that it was the shape of a mirror, and something could be seen through it. A cold wind came from it, accompanied by freezing droplets of water.

For a moment he was blinded as something hit him in the face. He took it from over his eyes and recognised it as a rotting leaf.

For a moment, he gazed into the "mirror". Then he understood. He could now see what was on the other side: some trees and a graveyard. He knew what was happening. It was a way back.

'Will you go?' A voice called out over the roar of the wind and the rain.

He spun round and saw Enjolras, who was heading towards him against the current of the wind.

He looked back at the soldiers – they were still frozen.

'What?' he called back.

'As I understand, that is a passage back to your world. To your time.'

'Yes, I- I think so.'

'Then you must go.'

'Never.'

'I'm begging you.' Enjolras placed his hands around Grantaire's face. 'Look at me!'

Grantaire hesitantly lifted his gaze and looked into Enjolras' eyes. He had never seen them so passionate about anything: his most inspiring speeches and the most adrenaline-filled moments of battle had lit up a wildfire in them. Now, they held a supernova.

Enjolras had, moments before, looked completely healthy and well rested. Now, his golden hair was wet from the rain and strewn across his forehead. His eyes were red, and brimming with tears.

'Look at me.' Enjolras repeated, his voice desperate and broken.

'I promised, didn't I? "If you die, I will follow you."'

'I don't care. All I know is that I couldn't live with myself – I just can't die knowing I killed you too.'

'Enjolras, you're not killing me. If anything, you've saved me.'

The wind grew louder and louder, making them shout even louder to be heard over it.

'You have a chance! Grantaire, you have a chance!' His voice rose to a heart-wrenching scream. 'Why!? Why won't you take it!?'

'Because what awaits me there is far worse than what is here!'

'Aren't you afraid of dying!?'

'Of course I am! This is the most terrified I have ever been. But it is nothing compared to living without you.'

'You're an idiot!'

'I know! I love you, Enjolras!'

'I know!'

'You do!?'

'Of course I do! And I love you, Grantaire!'

'What!?'

'I love you! I love you!'

Grantaire broke down into tears and buried his face in Enjolras' shoulder.

'What are we going to do?'

'I don't know. I'm useless, Grantaire, I can't protect you!'

'You're not useless, Enjolras, you're protecting me right now!'

'I'm not! I can't make you go home!' he roared.

'Enjolras, you say you can't die knowing I die too! But can you imagine? Can you even imagine what it would be like for me to live knowing I left you to die!?'

'But you were never meant to die here! This is all wrong! You need to go back to your time, where you belong!'

'I don't belong anywhere, Enjolras. I don't belong anywhere but with you! Do you want me to leave?'

'No! My God, I don't want you to go! But I am a terrible, selfish creature! You need to leave, Grantaire! You need to live!'

Grantaire stepped away from the portal, grabbed Enjolras' wrist and took him back to the corner by the billiard table. He put Enjolras' hand over his heart.

'Do you trust me, Enjolras?'

'Always.'

'Then believe me when I say this: If I have to choose between life and you, I choose you.'

Enjolras paused and reflected: it was obvious there was an internal struggle going on.

'You're certain? You're absolutely certain?'

Grantaire nodded.

'Then forgive me.' Enjolras spoke – it was uncertain whom to.

'This isn't the end, Enjolras!'

'No! It's the beginning, I promise you. Wherever you are, I swear I will find you!'

'Then I guess… See you on the other side.'

Enjolras grasped his hand with a smile.

The shots rang out. Eight bullets pierced Enjolras' chest. He stayed stood up against the wall, as if the balls had nailed him there. Only he bowed his head.

Grantaire, stricken down, fell at his feet.

Their hands remained clasped.

Epilogue

The sun was setting as an old woman made her way to a hidden grave. She laid a red rose on it, then picked up the stone that lay next to it. She took out her knife and carved the poem and the date onto the stone once more, as it was becoming hard to read. The knife had her initials on it: A. P. – Aurore Pontmercy.

She added an extra word. It was 'Grantaire'.

In another world, so unreachable and yet within everyone's reach, the darkness of the night gave way to dawn. Two men walked along, holding hands.

Their souls were bound together just as tightly as their hands were linked.

Finally, the end! I want to thank you for staying with me this whole time, it really means a lot to me :)

See you soon!

~E