Chapter 27

Day turned into night, and night turned into day. Grantaire couldn’t move. Somewhere in the long dark hours that cold floor had become comforting. Or well, not comforting. Numbing. And as long as you felt your body ache and protest, you didn’t feel that what was inside.

With day also came execution day. It would be quite a spectacle, or so Grantaire had heard. The entire town would be there (voluntary or not). Enjolras would be quite an example. The leader of Les Amis, finally brought to judgment day. No one was safe. Javert would come for all.

Getting up from that floor. Fixing his hair. Making it look like he hadn’t been crying. It took all of Grantaire's willpower. He had to look unmoved, like he was glad Enjolras was evicted even. He couldn’t waver, not with Javert watching him every move.

So he had to. He had to eat his breakfast, even though he felt like throwing up. He had to smile, had to follow the large crowd, and had to look at how Enjolras was brought in. This time with a chain around his neck, pulled forwards like some stubborn donkey. People were screaming, some for his attention, others for his blood. Grantaire was sure people were paid to change the atmosphere. As long as people thought they were killing a monster, they would quietly follow.

Enjolras looked like he didn't hear the people. His back was straight, his gaze unfazed. He almost looked right through the crowd. And when he passed Grantaire without even noticing the dark haired man, it was so, so difficult not to cry. Not to scream for his attention, for his forgiveness.

Not to let the world know every step Enjolras took felt like another heartbreak.

“I’m sorry, Apollo,” he whispered while Enjolras walked past him. Even in the face of death he looked like a leader, like he was unbroken, like he didn't know what fate awaited him there at the platform. And there was so much he wanted to say Enjolras, if he only had had more time.

I'm sorry. I didn't want this to happen. I want you with me. Go with me somewhere safe. You deserve more than this. You deserve life. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

“I’m sorry. I love you.” But Enjolras couldn’t hear him.



In Nassau every convict had a chance to ask the city for its forgiveness. It was an old rule meant for those who wanted to die with a clear conscious. It was part of the law, and as a executor of the law, Javert had to give Enjolras his time - even though the inspector hated it so much. Put Enjolras in front of a crowd, who would do that?

"I do not feel sorry," Enjolras said, addressing the crowd. They had been rowdy before, some murmuring about the unfairness of it all, others screaming for Enjolras' blood (whether they were paid to do that or not). Now they all felt silent.

"I do not feel sorry for the way I've lived. For the way I've dedicated myself to the sea and all who live by it. I've chosen my path, I've chosen to put myself second, put all the lives I've saved first. I've chosen to sacrifice myself for the greater good, and that's a decision I will forever live by. Or die by, if I must."

It seemed like Javert wanted to stop Enjolras, but the mayor stopped him. It was an old rule. Enjolras had his right to say what he wanted.

"These people here, they are not afraid of me, even though they make it seem like they are. This setup, this ruthless display of power is not meant for me. It is meant for you. Because the inspector and his people fear you. They fear you more than they have ever feared me or even my crew.

"Because you are Nassau. You are strong, and independent, and will not live in fear. You will not let anyone dictate you how to live your life, no matter how high the rank or how fancy the crown. And they know that. So they try to scare you into silence, into submission. Because they are scared of what will happen if you speak up."

Enjolras was silent for a bit. His gaze glided over the crowd, stayed a bit longer on Grantaire (or maybe it just felt that way). The entire crowd was listening speechless.

"You are Nassau," he said. "You are many. They are few. And they can’t hang us all."

And when Enjolras stopped talking, Grantaire suddenly understood why he had needed to be convicted. They didn't want him to be saved. They wanted a revolution.

The crowd stayed silent for a bit. Enjolras stepped forwards until he could touch the noose if he would move his head. He turned his head to the executioner. "Get on with it." He was ready to die. Grantaire wasn’t ready to watch him die.

But the crowd shifted. Enjolras had just let them feel invincible and they weren't going to let that feeling pass away. Enjolras' words had awakened something inside them, and suddenly they had realized Javert had come here to take their lives over. To decide what was the good life, instead of letting them choose.

"Give us Nassau back!" someone shouted. It was the sign for all those people to start shouting, to throw rocks, food, anything they could get their hands on. At first Javert had seemed to want to order the guards to stop that one man. To put this little rebellion down from the start and give a hard respons. But with a crowd like this, he had no choice than to retreat his men, then to flee the stage to save his life. Otherwise it would have been his body swinging from the noose. Somewhere in the chaos Enjolras had disappeared.

And while the crowd had seemed to start hunting Javert, Grantaire fled the other way. For the town he was a traitor, especially after this very vivid speech Enjolras had given. He just needed to get out of here, before Javert got his troops together and went for a strike back. People were going to die, that was something that was certain. And with Javert still controlling the fort, more people were going to die before this fight would be over - with an unknown winner. How Grantaire had become a spill figure in a civil war, was something he didn’t know.

He ran and he ran, until he had left the buildings of the town far away. He had nowhere to go, that was something that was certain. He couldn’t return to that place he wouldn’t call home, but was a house nevertheless. He definitely couldn’t return to the fort. All he could hope was that he would survive long enough to get to another town, whether that would be on foot or illegal on a ship.

"Oi!" he heard a shout from somewhere above a tree. It took Grantaire a bit too long to find Gavroche sitting there on a branch. "Why the hurry?"

Grantaire was quite out of breath. He wasn’t made for running long distances, that was sure. (Or for short distances if you asked him. He just wasn't made for running).

"Because I have to get out of there," he answered.

"Why? Because of the revolution? Or because you’ve betrayed them all?" Gavroche, subtle as ever.

"Both?" Because he didn't want to die. Because he wanted to live and make his way out of here.

Because everything inside him told him to return and make sure Enjolras was safe.

"Well, why don’t you join me?" The boy jumped down and gestured for Grantaire to follow him. Grantaire did. What else could he do? And maybe some part of him was curious to see where Gavroche would lead him. He lived here somewhere, somehow, but more than the beach and some bushes had Grantaire never seen.

It was almost like they were following a trail, and yet for other people there was no trail. The only way Grantaire noticed was by the way Gavroche seemed to walk a certain path. A place where the bushes were a bit less tight, even when you couldn’t see it from a distance - or from up close if you didn't know what you were looking for.

Grantaire had expected their trail to take ages, but in reality it was just a short walk. It felt weird somehow, to have Gavroche live as close to the beach as he did. He was a hidden person, had a hidden home, but lived so close to society.

Well, home… it was more extensive than Grantaire had expected. In some complicated way Gavroche had braided the branches of some trees and bushes to make it a waterproof roof. (Well, Grantaire assumed it was waterproof. Luckily it wasn’t raining at the moment. He really couldn’t have handled rain right now).

In the room this had created was a hole between the roots of the tree. In that hole lay a blanket and a pillow. Next to the hole was a log, like some sort of chair, and a firepit. Grantaire didn’t ask where Gavroche had learned how to make fire. Really, he didn't want to know. It was better not to know.

"So this is where you’re living?" Grantaire asked.

Gavroche shrugged. "Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't." That answer wasn’t cryptic at all, huh?

Gavroche sat down on the log, and Grantaire followed his example by sitting on the floor. There wasn’t much else to do.

"And now we wait," Gavroche said.

"On what?"

Another shrug. "What not? For the storm to pass, for the riot to end, for the revolution to start. You call it. Or maybe just for us to become hungry."

Grantaire had no answer to that. It was true, there was not much they could do than wait. And wait and wait.

"Do you want to play cards?"