Hello dear readers,

It is with great pride that I present to you Solstice, inspired by the winter solstice, which is, of course, December 21st of every year.

It was written for day 21 of the 31 Days of Enjonine challenge on tumblr (head over to the blog of the same name to read all the incredible stories and look at all the beautiful art that came in for our dear OTP), and was the main reason there hasn't been an update on my other in-progess fic, Wait Until the Lone Sun Breaks, since October. It actually broke tumblr it's so long (the lovelies running the blog had to break it into two posts), and it took more than a month to write. In the end, I was left with probably the best thing I've ever written, and I'm so excited to share it here!

Thank you so much already for the overwhelming response I got on tumblr (for those that saw it there first). I promise I'll get an update up for Lone Sun ASAP!

Like I mentioned, this story is incredibly long. In the end, it checked in at more than 20,000 words. I wrote it in six parts, and have separated said parts into their own chapters to make it easier to read.

Disclaimer: only the situation and character interpretations are mine. The rest belongs to dear Vicky Hugo, whose house I visited in Paris last week (and oh man did he live in style).

part i

He is born at sunrise on the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, with a tuft of hair the same gold of the sun and eyes as bright and blue as the sky. The people – his people, someday – rejoice: the gods have granted them a savior, a leader, who will protect them against the evils of the night, against the demons who mean them harm as the days grow shorter. Some even whisper that the god of light was born into the world in human form, to deliver his believers from their sorrow.

He is named Enjolras, and he is worshipped.

His first birthday is celebrated from dawn to dusk in conjunction with the summer solstice celebrations, and the people face yet another cold, dark winter with bravery and optimism.

She is born at midnight on the winter solstice a year and a half after him, in a shadowy, drafty hut, when the moon is high and full and shining bright. She is pale as its silver face, with hair as dark as the night sky, and eyes that are darker still. The priestesses predict that she will be a powerful healer, perhaps the greatest ever known, and even in her infancy, she becomes known as the High Priestess. The people worship her, awaiting the day that she reigns over them with wisdom and grace. Surely, she will lead them through the darkness, bringing them easily to peace and warmth and light again.

She is named Eponine, and the priestesses murmur thanks in their prayers for the gift of a goddess born into the flesh of a human infant.

The people adore her, and her parents quickly forget her in favor of the power she will one day possess.

But soon, the two nations begin to talk. A baby born on each solstice, opposite in every way – it can only mean war and death and the destruction of all things good. His people fear that this tiny girl will grow to kill their prince, that she will plunge the world into total and eternal darkness. Her people believe that he will burn her alive, and take them, too.

A council meets, of kings and priestesses, on the border of the two nations. After much arguing, debating, and drinking, they decide the children will be married, unified so they cannot destroy one another. Surely this will appease the gods; surely, the children themselves, these sacred vessels, will serve their divine parents and their mortal people equally.

They will be married, it is decided, thirty days after his eighteenth summer solstice. The days will still be long, but they will be married under the light of the moon. This will undoubtedly please the gods.

He grows into a passionate, intense, highly intelligent young man. He will be the best king, the sun king, burning with the same fire.

She is a wild thing; unpredictable, unreliable, flighty, and mischievous. But she's clever, and could be a great priestess if she wanted. She takes the healing more seriously, but prefers to run barefoot through the fields, chasing her sister and brothers, far from her parents.

The priestesses tell her of her betrothal when she's fourteen; they catch her kissing a charismatic street urchin named Montparnasse, and forbid her from ever seeing him again. She's so angry, so betrayed, that she runs – she is caught by the city guard before she can even make it to the gates. They keep her in the temple for days as punishment, and she reflects on her misfortune.

She hates him already. Who needs to see him, when she already knows what he'll be like? Cruel, undoubtedly, and awful. Probably fat and balding, but hairy everywhere else, and old. Yes, she loathes him, this stupid, selfish, spoiled brat who thinks he owns her.

They're always telling her she's a goddess, born into a human body, meant to save her people. She begins to wonder if it's a lie, if the priestesses truly believe it or if they want to keep the people submissive. If she were truly a goddess, they wouldn't dare force her to marry a stranger. They wouldn't dare take her away from her family and her home and her people.

She concludes that she isn't. Just a normal human girl, chosen to be a symbol. The gods, she decides, are myths created by humankind and perpetuated by people like the priestesses. They aren't real. There is no divinity, only humanity; cruel and corrupt and miserable.

She does not cry about the betrothal. She does not cry about Montparnasse, or her loss of belief in the gods. She does not cry about her siblings or her city or her people. She will never cry about this, any of it.

She wonders if he hates her, too.