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At last! Enjolras thought, with some impatience, but a greater feeling of excitement coarsing through his body as he was faced with the way home he had rejected once. At last, there was no stepping back, and no avoiding what fate had surely willed him. Death, yes, but a death that would grant that last measure of peace he had been seeking since he had become the last of Les Amis left here, since he had woken to find Taraja vanished, and half a dozen other trials, small and large, in his time here.
And, then, as he finally left the realm of dreams, Enjolras could find a different sort of rest altogether, and return to those he'd loved in life, the man he'd learnt he loved only by being here, and the friends he'd come to cherish all the more in their absence. He would have liked, he thought, to have seen a few of them again, the few who'd never made it here, Bahorel, Feuilly, the names stuck painfully at him. He would have liked to have seen them again. The Corinth stood before him now, beckoning back to the barricades, to his corpse, and to death, only he...
Well. If nothing else, that was different. The wine shop, battered in the attacks stretched out in front of him, good as new, a bright sign, repainted in what looked like Feuilly's hand, welcomed him in, for all that he knew what it was he strode forward to face. Still, there was a light behind the door he had not thought would be here now. And when he touched the handle to let himself in, it, too, was warm to the touch, bathing him in light he had not thought he'd know. He had condemned himself to death, or life forever without those he'd cared for most, upon the barricade, but when he opened the door all the way, he was offered the hand that he'd last held in Paris, and looked into Grantaire's laughing eyes, then found himself being tugged into a hug by Courfeyrac, hair rustled by Bahorel, offered a wave and grin from Bossuet, while Joly peered at him, curiously, as if he wanted to ask him what had taken him so long to get here. Jean Prouvaire bounced up, a sheaf of papers, with what must be verses on them, in his hand, and Feuilly smiled shyly, offering a small salute before the crowd of young men parted, leaving only one who stood, waiting, and suddenly his face was all that Enjolras could see.
Combeferre, Etienne was waiting, there again, at last, at long last, and all that there was left to do was bridge the final steps and come to him. For all that Enjolras had liked Keelai, he didn't hesitate, not for a moment now, as he found himself laughing, almost fit to burst, and tears streamed from his eyes, he ran the last few steps, burying his head against his lover's shoulder, as the others of the group, save only for Marius, who must still be at home, in the Paris of the living, stepped closer too, forming a large circle around the pair of them, every one of them touching, every one of them a part of something greater and engulfed by an ever increasing light.
"I missed you..." Enjolras tried speaking, found his heart to be too full for words, and shrugged them off instead. And then, between each universe, in the only place they could have waited, Les Amis d'lABC, together again and whole, stepped forward into the light of a newer, better world.
The streets of this new world were linged with gold, the human race was happy, and here, the human race knew love. What else was there to know but that? What else was there to find but peace?
Here, after the many years of strife, of war, and everything else, their troubles ended. Here, at last, in the better world he had seen once stretching distantly from the barricade, Enjolras had come home.
[[I've loved playing Enjolras at Tushu, meeting his fantastic non canon friends and other CR, and generally falling in love with this place as much as possible. It's time for his story to continue elsewhere, though. Arno Dorian and I are still around to play, and I look forward to bringing in another n00b here soon. Thank you for the chance to play Enjolras here. It's been amazing.
Lots of love!
-Sar]]
And, then, as he finally left the realm of dreams, Enjolras could find a different sort of rest altogether, and return to those he'd loved in life, the man he'd learnt he loved only by being here, and the friends he'd come to cherish all the more in their absence. He would have liked, he thought, to have seen a few of them again, the few who'd never made it here, Bahorel, Feuilly, the names stuck painfully at him. He would have liked to have seen them again. The Corinth stood before him now, beckoning back to the barricades, to his corpse, and to death, only he...
Well. If nothing else, that was different. The wine shop, battered in the attacks stretched out in front of him, good as new, a bright sign, repainted in what looked like Feuilly's hand, welcomed him in, for all that he knew what it was he strode forward to face. Still, there was a light behind the door he had not thought would be here now. And when he touched the handle to let himself in, it, too, was warm to the touch, bathing him in light he had not thought he'd know. He had condemned himself to death, or life forever without those he'd cared for most, upon the barricade, but when he opened the door all the way, he was offered the hand that he'd last held in Paris, and looked into Grantaire's laughing eyes, then found himself being tugged into a hug by Courfeyrac, hair rustled by Bahorel, offered a wave and grin from Bossuet, while Joly peered at him, curiously, as if he wanted to ask him what had taken him so long to get here. Jean Prouvaire bounced up, a sheaf of papers, with what must be verses on them, in his hand, and Feuilly smiled shyly, offering a small salute before the crowd of young men parted, leaving only one who stood, waiting, and suddenly his face was all that Enjolras could see.
Combeferre, Etienne was waiting, there again, at last, at long last, and all that there was left to do was bridge the final steps and come to him. For all that Enjolras had liked Keelai, he didn't hesitate, not for a moment now, as he found himself laughing, almost fit to burst, and tears streamed from his eyes, he ran the last few steps, burying his head against his lover's shoulder, as the others of the group, save only for Marius, who must still be at home, in the Paris of the living, stepped closer too, forming a large circle around the pair of them, every one of them touching, every one of them a part of something greater and engulfed by an ever increasing light.
"I missed you..." Enjolras tried speaking, found his heart to be too full for words, and shrugged them off instead. And then, between each universe, in the only place they could have waited, Les Amis d'lABC, together again and whole, stepped forward into the light of a newer, better world.
The streets of this new world were linged with gold, the human race was happy, and here, the human race knew love. What else was there to know but that? What else was there to find but peace?
Here, after the many years of strife, of war, and everything else, their troubles ended. Here, at last, in the better world he had seen once stretching distantly from the barricade, Enjolras had come home.
[[I've loved playing Enjolras at Tushu, meeting his fantastic non canon friends and other CR, and generally falling in love with this place as much as possible. It's time for his story to continue elsewhere, though. Arno Dorian and I are still around to play, and I look forward to bringing in another n00b here soon. Thank you for the chance to play Enjolras here. It's been amazing.
Lots of love!
-Sar]]
